The Viking Insurgence
by Zwoosh-K9
Summary: Garfield Viking is taken across the world to China as his past catches up with him. Murder, kidnapping, corruption and lies; the enigma of Omega has taken an unexpected turn for the worst. Leading from the story The Rider Conspiracy, contains Main OC and Wolf.
1. Letter

**The Viking Insurgence**

**This is the bridging story between The Rider Conspiracy and its sequel. Reviews are very much appreciated and welcomed. I strongly recommend that you read The Rider Conspiracy first before reading this story, but unless you already have or don't care, I have placed in a summary of it below.**

**If you would like me to read or review any of your stories, please let me know in a review or a Private Message. **

**Previously in The Rider Conspiracy:**

**Alex Rider had initially left the world of MI6 behind after a plan to assassinate an undisclosed American official on a trip to the Middle East in which England spies – namely Alex's clone – would be framed. The plan was thwarted, but not with Alex paying the highest price. Having killed himself essentially, he was taken away by the Pleasure family to America where he lived in **_**reasonable **_**peace for a few months before his past once more caught up with him.**

**A new threat called Omega had risen to power once Scorpia had been decimated, and were now going about wreaking havoc to the British Government. Sending an assassin so as not to attract attention to them too soon, Omega had Sabina's parents (Alex's guardians) killed. Alex was extracted back to England under orders of Garfield Viking, our 'hero' of this story, and was placed under the care of Ben Daniels, formerly known to Alex and such as 'Fox'. **

**It was the plan of MI6 and MI5 to keep Alex as little as involved as possible in the Omega investigation, but it soon became apparent that Omega was targeting all who were close to Alex and the investigation. Forced by their antics, Alex made a temporary deal with both agencies to reapply as a spy, helping alongside the Omega investigation. **

**With disaster after disaster, Alex with the help of others waded through the evidence to find some way of tackling Omega. Their chance came upon realising that none other than Mrs Jones was in fact an Omega director betraying MI6 and stealing secure information. Her plot was to expose Alex and Garfield with their own investigation, turning what would have been an asset to them into their worst nightmare. Omega was gaining the upper hand, so it came down solely to Alex, Garfield K-Unit and unexpected help to thwart the scheme. Thanks to Garfield's innovation, they had mere hours to stop what would be catastrophe for the British government and save their friends who were being held hostage.**

**A month has passed since the incident, now only referred to as the Omega incident, and people are once more getting on with their lives. All except Garfield, who is not only worrying about Omega, but also himself and his friends once more; can he still be trusted?**

**Chapter 1: Letter**

The day started like any other. Garfield Viking woke up in the bed that wasn't technically his, dressed in freshly cleaned clothes, skipped breakfast as he usually did and brushed his teeth with the cheap shop own brand toothpaste, rinsing off with the foulest tasting mouthwash his dad insisted on buying. A usual, set routine giving him ample control over the morning. But today was different from most days. Garfield had marked this date off on his phone's calendar, and it bleeped in his pocket, reminding him of why he was suffering a week of tension.

Today was the day he met the rest of his new family. _Wolf's/Dad's _family.

He looked at his reflection in the mirror. His traditional blue strand he had grown accustomed hung over his eye, as vivid as the day he accidentally dyed it with one of Smithers' many gadgets. The rest of his hair was a darkened brown, streaked with the odd line of fairness. He would never have considered himself handsome, but he had preened himself days – weeks even – beforehand, ready for this day. Right now he looked rather presentable, if modesty would allow him to say so. But deep down inside he felt ridiculous. Like he had been scrubbed and prepped for show, for a parade. If they were Wolf's family, thereby extension his, surely then he wouldn't really need to make such an effort for his appearance. They should just accept him as who he was, surely? He knew from the soldier that they held family values close to their hearts, so it shouldn't be a problem. But then why was Wolf making such a fuss about it? If anyone, it should be Garfield himself who should be getting nerves, not him.

Garfield checked himself one last time in the mirror for blemish marks and odd smudges of dirt. He had just woken up, and cursed himself for being so blatantly idiotic. Of course he wouldn't have dirt. Why was he even admiring his reflection? He was about to go jogging for goodness sake!

Shaking his head, he left the bathroom. He moved silently through the apartment, keeping light on his toes so as to avoid waking the slumbering form of Wolf sprawled out across the sofa in the den section of the main room. Through the slats in the dividers that separated the den from the rest of the room, Garfield could see the rise and fall of his chest, his face half smothered by pillows and the duvet, his feet peeking just out into the cool air. Summer had ended, and cold mornings were becoming the norm. He'd have to wear something warmer now. Slipping on a long sleeved running top, he nipped out the door, strapping his music player to his bicep and clasping his phone safely into his pocket where it wouldn't jostle about. He took his keys of the hanger, ones that had been cut recently for him. It was a trusting gesture Wolf had offered, a set of keys to the only place they could feel truly safe. The streets were a no go anymore, especially not in the dark. Omega had stripped them of freedom, making them cower and shuffle about in public, ever cautious and ever watchful. Garfield knew, amongst them all, that they would come back. He hadn't told a soul, not even his superiors at MI5. He couldn't. He simply didn't have enough substantial evidence to make such a wild claim. All the government cared about was whether or not they had been defeated the first time and that was that; no more action was taken. Above all that, they certainly wouldn't listen to a teenage boy, regardless of how intelligent he was, or how close he had been to Omega. His own guardian, now deceased thank goodness, had moulded him into the weapon that they had yearned for. Alex had, though, technically, was supposed to be the first, another enigma Garfield had yet to figure out.

This all reminded him of the still shadowing prophecy, foretold by the mysterious girl in the trench coat and the business tycoon Aidan Brock, which was yet to come true. When the apple falls and clock strikes thirteen, whatever that meant. They had cropped up during the preliminary investigation into Omega, and continued to do so throughout, offering help or ominous reminders as to their future or destiny. Garfield didn't believe a word of it. Science, statistics and psychology were the answers for him. By examining the facts, and the corresponding data, one could work out all the answers one needed. But the problem here was that he had nothing to go by. No evidence, no data; nothing. Omega had covered their tracks incredibly well, and he was struggling to even pluck at straws as to what they were _really_ up to, and how they intended to go about it. Alex had been right in his confrontation between Mrs Jones and himself; once Omega was in power they had nowhere else to go. The next best thing would be to build what would be a utopia in their minds, a dystopia in the common population. Even if that motive were true, they still had to be stopped. A dystopian society would be the end of them all. Rebellion would be quelled, resistance beaten out of the public. They would become pathetic sheep, bleating to every command bellowed at them.

Garfield nimbly jogged down the stairs, heading to the ground floor, and then the exit. It wasn't really a bad place to live. They had reasonable security, a nice community where everyone helped each other and the crime around the area was kept to a minimum by efficient policing. It was a shame Wolf was planning on moving, despite doing his best not to let Garfield twig on. He had realised it the instant Wolf proposed the initial adoption. The flat was too small, too cramped for the both of them. But it wasn't that sole fact that Garfield had figured out they were moving. It was the lack of rubbish Wolf was taking down, the increased smell of his deodorant and furniture polish and the fact he was always the first to get the mail and telephone calls. All reasonably normal things, but Garfield saw otherwise. His mind worked differently, seeing information coming together into an amalgamation of facts and statistics. It was how he had been brought up; to see the probabilities and not the people. The people were just a confusing mess of emotions and personalities. If you looked past them and at the psychology and behaviours they held, they suddenly became so much clearer and far more interesting than what they were. It was like computer programming; where the public see a beautiful rendering of a writhing, foaming waterfall, set against a backdrop of amber clouds and rosy sky. Perhaps a toucan or some other exotic bird would be defined in the foreground coloured ever so delicately with bold shades of yellow and orange, highlighted with each feather of its wing and the grain on its beak. Its plumage was ruffled and bristling. Truly a spectacular image, maybe used as one's desktop for their computer. But then what would that look like to the computer, or the programme designer? All the designer would see would be strings of code, with slashes there and commands here. Then, to an even finer detail, the computer would see zeroes and ones, and nothing more – ordering them at lightning speed into the wondrous picture. That was what it was like for Garfield; there was the real world, then there was the world just beyond that where fiction was not allowed and where everything could be so easily made sense of.

Garfield could tell that these three simple facts – less refuse, more deodorant and polish smell and Wolf's eagerness to answer the phone and get the post or door – all accumulated into one theory. He was planning on moving. Where, Garfield couldn't tell, but he could tell that Wolf was hiding that fact from him. The less rubbish meant that Wolf was reducing their waste somehow. Now so far, Garfield hadn't seen any change in their weekly shopping, nor had he seen any change in what they regularly used. So Wolf had to be keeping something back from the refuse. Garfield had looked into this already. Their bin for recycling cardboard was not as full as it should have been. Wolf was stockpiling cardboard boxes; fact one. Fact two was that the increased aroma of deodorant and polish was linked to the tidiness wolf had suddenly began insisting on. He was cleaning the flat, more so than he had been before. Before, they would leave papers lying around in an orderly fashion, there ready and waiting for when you needed them, but now Wolf was nagging Garfield to clean up after himself. Now he had initially assumed this was because his relatives were coming to visit, travelling to London to see their newest addition to their already ginormous family. He had put it down to fraying nerves due to familial relations, as in a military crisis the man could be one of the sturdiest and most confident of men. He was the captain of an SAS squad – K-Unit – and had shown his aptitude for the battlefield. But when it came to something personal, he seemed to stall. His life behind the frontline had eroded his social skills, only having to work closely with five, maybe six people, and very loosely with anybody else. Civilian life was daunting to him; a prospect he could never get around his head. It would have been natural for him to be so worked up about his family coming to visit that he would go into overdrive to be as presentable as he best could. But that theory went out the window when Wolf had said they were going somewhere neutral so as to best increase Garfield's chances of being accepted. They were old-fashioned, so biologically he would never be their son, and only by a piece of paper. That and he was far older than what they would have expected; a baby or a toddler perhaps, a child less so. But a teenager? Wolf figured he would have a very slim chance, being the overbearing and considerate father he was, so had suggested meeting at a restaurant to start things off, a pleasant, easy-going 'getting to know you' dinner date. So if that were true now, then the cleaning was due to something else. The polish came from the spotlessly clean furniture, and the deodorant from Wolf himself, managing to find time to dust and clear when the teen was never there. But the smell hung around, as cleaning was strenuous, and obviously made everyone sweat. It just so happened to make Wolf's unmistakable deodorant fill the room and Garfield had realised long since the first few days that he was preparing to sell the house, readying it for visitors and prospective residents, making that fact two. Couple the both of them with fact three, which was Wolf's eagerness to not allow Garfield a chance of answering the phone made for the moving house theory. Hypothetically, Wolf would have contacted estate agents, both with the idea of buying and selling in mind. So they would call him back, come round to visit or deliver catalogues with houses and apartments lined from the front cover to the back. And since he didn't want Garfield to see, then it would become glaringly obvious not to let the teen get to the post first, or to the phone, or to the door. What may appear as controlling from different perspectives without any other knowledge suddenly validated Garfield's theory along with all three facts that they were going to be moving in the near or late future.

But being truthful to himself, Garfield realised on top of all that he may have just ruined a big surprise Wolf had had planned for him. He was kind like that, Garfield had found. A true softy if ever there was one. What made it worse was that Wolf had turned his SAS codename, a name supposed to be kept secret to civilians, a name supposed to invoke fear and mystery in the hearts of their enemies, into a term of endearment for him. Pup was no longer the name of the teen that could best them at military exercises, and was now instead Garfield's nickname, used when Wolf thought it necessary or fitting. But he didn't mind, not that he would ever dare to admit that. It brought or the more pleasure when he could use Wolf's real name, as his codename had practically replaced his true identity. His actual name was Tristan Alvarez, whose parents were in fact Spaniards with British citizenship, and he as a British-born citizen. With the mushiness aside, that posed another unremarkable but still ever-pressing question as to Garfield's name. Would he adopt Wolf's name and be done with it, or would he decide to keep his own? Would he go as far as to combine the two; Viking-Alvarez or Alvarez-Viking? Both sounded just as good, but a part of him wanted to keep the rather cool sounding surname of Viking, and another part wanted Alvarez, to wash his hands clean of his past with Viking and move on afresh with Wolf as his true father. But could he do that? Could he simply just dust his hands down and say 'no more' and turn his back on an underworld he owed so much? Everyone had ghosts, and unfortunately for Garfield these ghosts came with high prices. As he jogged past the postman, he nodded his head in the man's direction, deciding it'd be best to start the day chipper and positive so as to keep an open mind for later tonight. What he didn't realise, however, was that a letter, addressed to him, was tucked neatly away with the rest of the monotonous post, waiting to be delivered. What he didn't realise was that one of his _ghosts_ was about to call him to arms again. But he carried on, oblivious to the harrowing letter that would be sitting on the kitchen worktop by the time he got back home.

He rounded the corner of the flats' green, a patch of grass that was hardly in a fit enough state to even be called a 'green'. Its blades had been shrivelled and dried by the sun, a mottled brown and mahogany. He carried one past, cataloguing the information for later. He did this with everything, keeping track of the changes being made to the place he lived in. He counted the paving slabs under his feet, the trees still with leaves and those without, the amount of people awake and those who weren't. He watched how many cars went by, where they were going and how fast. He did all this all as if it were normal, as if he had been doing it all his life – which he had, in fact. He had been forced from day one after being adopted by the sinister Mr E (an Omega director, although he hadn't known at the time) to do so, making the casual notes and deductions about to surrounding world. It was what had kept him alive for so long, and he continued to do so religious, the process burned into his memory like an old irritating scar. Garfield longed for the day when he could walk outside, breathe the crisp air, wave hello to the next-door neighbour and not think that he was running to financial troubles, his wife was cheating on him and that his upstairs bathroom needed more soap. It was incredulous some of the things Garfield could work out, and insanely useless whatever else he saw, but he couldn't help it. It was like second-nature to him to do so.

By now, he had set off on one of his most favourite jogging routes, one that passed him through one of his friends' hangout parks. The trees this time of year were of the most complimentary shades: of greens and yellows, all different hues. It was also the time when most people steered clear of the greenery, where it was neither autumn nor summer. The indecisive imagery was not the most appealing subconsciously to the public, and so Garfield would only run into the odd fellow jogger or a dog-walker. He would only then have to deal with filing the information of a few people rather than dozens. It gave his mind some peace.

It was only when his phone jarred in his pocket that that peace was disturbed. Sighing, he slowed to a lazy jog, stepping from side to side so as not to lose state of mind nor to waste time. He could burn energy while he answered whoever had decided to text him at such an early hour. The message popped up with Tom's name adorning it. What could he possibly want at this time in the morning, or more accurately, what the hell was he doing up so early? Garfield had put him down as a heavy sleeper, managing to stay in bed until the adolescent time of at least one in the afternoon when he could. The change in character raised suspicion with Garfield, and so he opened the text steeling himself for whatever news Tom was obviously wanting to inform him with. Garfield would have struck it as bad, knowing full well the Omega threat pressured on them all. Given he was awake and actually messaging someone meant that it could only be bad. Tom would rather sleep than spread news of joy. It was in his nature. The text followed:

'**Jerry's jst calld. He wants 2 visit. Wat do I do?'**

Suddenly, Garfield stopped jogging, directing all his intellectual power to sort through the new information. He knew that Tom's parents, now deceased, had been neglectful of their children, and that had been one of the main reasons that Tom's older brother, Jerry, had fled to France with his fiancée. Garfield shuddered at the thought of France, and at its bitter memories it held for him. But Jerry had gone, married and left Tom's life for good. Or so they had all thought. The simple fact that Jerry now wanted to return and visit posed significant problems. What was his motive? Garfield supposed it could be that MI6 finally allowed word to reach French officials of their parents' deaths, but then that would clash with internal security measures. Omega was never to be mentioned outside of the agency, so explaining their deaths would be infuriatingly difficult. Not to mention why word has only just reached France now. One way or another, difficult questions would be raised, and inevitably they would fall to Garfield to create plausible answers and excuses for all of them. Another motive could be that Jerry's social climate has suddenly changed due to circumstance or external individuals. He could have realised what he had done was selfish, and decided to make amends. It could be that his fiancée has pressed him to mend bridges with his brother after being so cruel. But that was unlikely in and of itself. She was a controlling woman, Garfield could tell by what Tom had told him and by the simple fact she had not only made Jerry not just move out of his parents' house, but to an entirely different country, abandoning his younger brother. The initial plan had been for Jerry to find accommodation elsewhere, which ended up being France for some estranged reason, and then for Tom to later move in with him. But then obviously Jerry's love life had drawn a line between the two ever being actualised together, and so Jerry had made the fateful mistake (in Garfield's opinion) to live with his girlfriend. So then another motive perhaps? But Garfield could think of none. It could just be all by pure chance, that Jerry has taken the abrupt decision to return for his brother, maybe after hearing of the carnage that London was being subjected to during Omega's previous attack. Garfield couldn't tell. He needed more information.

'_Has he said why?' _he replied, thumbing the correct buttons on the touchscreen. Another of Smithers endless gadgets. It was the only one he really allowed himself to use for domestic purposes. It was a phone, certainly, but also an emergency beacon, a decoder, an X-ray scanner, a personal organiser with access to MI5 and MI6 databases (having been finally reconstructed) and a eavesdropping device once special headphones were attached. He awaited the incoming message, taking a seat on a nearby empty bench. The park looked familiar, now that he wasn't running through it, desperately trying to ignore the features and everything else it held within its wrought iron gates. It looked eerily familiar, like he had been here once before, instead of just passing through. Then it clicked; this was where he had arrested Blunt on suspicion of treason and cooperation with Omega. Garfield had never gotten any information out of him; he had been killed by Mrs Jones before he had had the chance. Thank goodness she was dead now.

Garfield's phone vibrated again, chiming out a dull, generic jingle signifying an incoming text. Garfield had the phone deftly in his palm again, clutched between chilly fingers before the tune had ended. He opened up the reply message, which read:

'**Dunno. Says he has news & wants 2 talk' **

To the ordinary eye, this would seem like useless knowledge, that nothing could be theorised from it. But Garfield, as always, saw differently. The news provides the motive for travelling and wanting to meet up. This was not just a random spur of the moment idea, nor was it pressurising from some individual. Jerry's situation has changed in one way or another, and somehow it involves Tom. This could be a multitude of things, but Garfield suspected that it is serious and has gravity to it. The wanting to talk would suggest the seriousness, and the news implies that is applicable to Tom in some form. This would probably mean maybe a divorce, although he could have done that far easier over the text; it was basic enough information that would really need no explanation to a later date, so whatever news Jerry had it was complex and required one-on-one communication. Possibly then Jerry has a new proposal? It would seem likely, as he could be feeling guilty over leaving Tom behind, and wants to rectify it by bringing Tom back to France with him. That would require much persuasion, especially now that Lion and Eagle had applied for joint adoption of him. It would then mean cancelling the adoption papers for Tom and switching him to jerry's guardianship, apply for a permanent French visa and then take him to live abroad. But could Jerry have changed his fiancée's mind so easily? It has been a considerable while since she and Tom had seen each other. Maybe she had relented, given in to Jerry's persistent coercing, if he had been coercing at all.

Even with all that now laid out on the table, Garfield could see no way in which he could help. Mel was maybe best for moral and emotional support, Alex for his long-term friendship with him, and even Ella would provide better use than him. Garfield could often find himself rather brash and upfront about emotional responses, and found it impossibly hard to open himself up to people, let alone Tom. What could he possibly want with him, or was this just a friendly informing, letting Garfield know out of politeness, considering he was a good friend. He text back exactly that:

'_Is anything I could do? I doubt I can help much…' _he hesitated, reading over and realising he was typing in perfect English. Damn him and his literary compulsions. He debated with himself, wondering whether or not to put a 'smiley' face. He'd seen his friends use them often enough, and deduced what each relatively stood for, save for the poetic license some held such as ':P' or ':/'. Instead, he opted to put _':S'_ so as to show Tom he wasn't meaning to sound unintentionally dismissive, and genuinely cared as to how he could help. He wanted to do something, but was at a loss as to _what_ that something was. The reply was immediate, and Garfield jumped a little when the phone piped up from his hands:

**If u wudnt mind, cud u help giv me ur prof opinion? **Garfield didn't quite understand, and by some supernatural force, possibly Tom knew he was being unclear too, as he sent another text straight after that: **I dont want Jerry 2 play me around. If I cud talk 2 u properly, thn I can gt a bttr understndng of wats going on.**

Garfield now saw what he was trying to say. If he was there with Tom, then he could help communicate what Jerry might possibly be doing. The teen could even be more in the dark than Garfield is now, which was not the intended outcome. He owed Tom, for many things, such as providing insanity to an otherwise boring job, and for providing friendship to him, the most difficult of people. Feeling compassion rising in his chest, Garfield wrote out his response;

_I will head over to yours tomorrow. I can't go today due to meeting Wolf's family. Until then, find out as much as you can about his visit._ _See you then._

Standing up, he slipped his phone away and carried on with the rest of his jog. Garfield's mind was abuzz with a string of thoughts and deductions, swirling and tangling together as they formed an intricate web of truths and lies. He then, mentally, began sorting them, shoving the lies and false truths to one corner of his head whilst he dealt with what he knew to be correct. Jerry's fiancée was controlling; manipulative. It was highly unlikely she would have given in at all to returning to England and in turn Tom. So maybe Jerry was coming back by himself; Tom would never mention if she would be accompanying him. He hated her, and so it would be natural for him to omit her from his texts. It was improbable that she would come, but not implausible. Garfield wouldn't know for definite until either Tom decides to inform him so, or tomorrow, when he can find out directly. What else did he know? Garfield knew that if Jerry's intention was adoption, then it would cause friction between him and Tom. The teen had just got settled again after a bloody few weeks, and Garfield question whether Jerry even knew about their parents' deaths. If not, then the strain it could cause could be unbearable for either of them. He noted down in the back of his head to remind Tom, should he ever decided to meet up, that he should meet up somewhere neutral, much like he was with Wolf's family.

Damn… his train of thought was disrupted by the notion of meeting Wolf's relatives once more. That was the sixth time this week. It was becoming ever more frequent now as the deadline approached. Garfield's pace slowed as he tried to recollect his thoughts, but all he could think about now was Wolf and his family, and how horribly wrong it could go. He no longer paid attention to his surroundings, to the passers-by or to the buildings he jogged past. Now he was solely focused on Wolf, his family and himself. What would they be all like? Would they ask too many questions about him? Garfield had a long history he would rather be kept under wraps than placed and spread out as though on an exhibit. There were many years he would more like to leave behind than keep on his record, but it was not him that pried at his life; it was everyone else who needed to know senseless background in order to grasp a better understanding of a person. It was times like those that Garfield just wished people could think like he did for once, so that they could see all they needed to know without having to interrogate with needless questions with difficult answers.

Garfield just barely missed an oncoming pedestrian, their characteristics and traits flashing past his head so clearly visible and glaring. He was shouted at, cursed to watch where he was going, but Garfield had already attempted to forget him, carrying on jogging. The information filed itself away, and then he was no more. An imprint on the beach, and inevitably, as the analogy went, the tide would come in and he would forget… _eventually_. It took time for Garfield to organise himself. That's why he would have moments of utter concentration where he shut off the rest of the world and focused completely in his own mind. K-Unit and Alex had already seen moments like this, such as when he was trying to figure out who the traitor was in MI6, where his hands had gone off on their own accord and he had stayed silent for quite a while.

He ran past the collapsed London Eye, now being reconstructed to be even sturdier and stronger than before. The official excuse as to why it had been destroyed was due to a nasty accident with the mechanics, combined with a multitude of extremely unlikely and unintentional circumstances. The public had to be kept in the dark and utterly placid, otherwise the uproar would be too much to handle. The riots had been an example of that. So by making it look like a mistake, a horrible misfortune and people were more complacent. What was the real reason? Omega had blown up the London Eye in an attempt to kill Alex and Ella for whatever reason, despite obviously needing them alive. They had crashed a helicopter into the base of the structure and sent it falling. Garfield surmised that it may have even been possible that Omega had planted explosives so as to optimise the blast. The helicopter crash could have just been improvisation. The pilot would have been a dead man anyway.

Across the river, the two headquarters for MI6 and MI5 were set against the murky grey sky. Garfield could see the wreckage MI6 was, but MI5 had survived, suffering no attack at all. He guessed if there was ever going to be another target for Omega, the likeliest choice would be there. It was why the headquarters were being moved for national security. As a temporary centre of operations, the Clock-tower had become MI6's base. The Clock-tower was essentially the tower on the Houses of Parliament, as well as Big Ben, the actual name of the bell. It was supposed to be a laboratory of sorts, designing weaponry and gadgets for agents to use. Now it was kept under close guard as it served its new purpose until the next MI6 headquarters had been built. It was going to be somewhere a little further up the Thames, swapping a Police station with the old location of MI6. It was an easy enough transition, and building work was already under way.

Garfield jogged on some more. What happened if Omega began an attack on Wolf's family? Could Garfield ever forgive himself? He'd managed to steer those close to him clear of damage, only Alex had failed to do so in that respect, but it was only a matter of time before they turned on him in any way they could. Would they then target Wolf's – and eventually his – family? They were spread far apart from each other. He couldn't possibly hope to keep _all_ of them protected without their knowledge. Some were even in another country, and MI6 refused to let any fellow nations learn of Omega's existence since the criminal organisation seemed to pivot around Alex and such. If other countries learnt about Alex then Omega wouldn't even need to lift a finger; everyone else would do their work for them. So Garfield essentially had no hope of keeping anybody safe, and would simply have to leave it to chance. The fact they were meeting up later at the restaurant would only acknowledge his association with them, making them prime marks to get at Garfield. He made quite the scene with Mr E, his wretched former guardian, and he knew deep down that that would not go unpunished. He didn't know when or where, but there would be repercussions of that event some time later in his future, Garfield was certain.

Drawing his morning jog to a close, he came back to the flats in which he and Wolf occupied. He came back around the regular charred green, past the few rows of houses and into the flats. Taking each step as his calves burnt from the exertion, he made his way upstairs, going to the third floor. He opened the door with his key and went inside. Wolf was in the kitchenette, awake now and glugging from a mug with big gulps. Garfield nodded in his direction as he entered, taking note of the man's posture and left hand – the hand not hold the mug. He was on his first… no _second_ cup of coffee in the morning. The more placated hand, resting on the edge of the surface top showed he had gained at least one shot of caffeine and his posture was more leant back instead of hunched over. Garfield had taken careful consideration of everything Wolf did, analysing where he was up to in his daily routine, his moods and the atmosphere between the two of them. It came awfully in handy whenever he was pissed or angry with Garfield, so the teen could avoid him at all costs and try to make amends somewhat. If his left hand was propping up his right elbow when drinking coffee in the morning it meant he was only on his first mug, but by its current position he was at least on his second or third. Wolf only had a third cup of coffee when it was going to be a long day or he'd got to sleep far too late the previous night. Today was neither, as he was up later than usual. His slumped posture, leaning backwards suggested he was more lax today than before. Perhaps the anxiety over the prior weeks had abated?

"Morning," Garfield ventured, hanging up his keys, placing his phone on the side and snatching the earphones out of his ears. Wolf just gave his usual grunt; perhaps it was a little _too_ early for greetings. Garfield inwardly sighed, not wanting to irk Wolf in any way with what lay ahead for them both in mind. "I'm going to take a shower," he announced, heading back to the one bedroom the flat held. It had been Wolf's, but over the course of that Omega incident it had somehow become his, regardless of his physical state.

He didn't bother shutting the door as he stripped down to his boxers. They had already both seen each other naked back at Brecon Beacons in the communal shower when Garfield had been forced one night to attend with the rest of the unit at the normal time, rather than his late midnight shower. Garfield would gladly admit that he was prudish and modest. He didn't want dozens of other testosterone-pumped, bitter men watching him bathe and seeing all sorts of other parts of his anatomy. But now was a different situation. Wolf had already bathed him when he was recovering from the vicious explosion that had destroyed his last safe-house, so it wasn't that he was embarrassed. It was just instinct not to allow Wolf to see him entirely naked. He plodded his way to the small bathroom right outside the bedroom, dumping the sweaty running gear into the wash basket. Garfield closed the door; he didn't bothering to lock it as he doubted Wolf would intrude. They had set barriers after a rather unpleasant incident had come about when Garfield, unbeknown to him, had come into the bathroom one night and… well; the result had not been pretty. Wolf wasn't angry, but he was certainly peeved he'd been interrupted midway through relieving his bladder. After that day, they had made the rule never to enter the bathroom when the door was closed unless it was absolutely necessary.

He took off the last of his clothing, started up a scorching hot shower and dumped the boxers in with the rest of the soaked running clothes. He stepped into the steaming splurge of water, immediately feeling the relief as the hot water permeated his strained legs. Garfield had never been a fighter, but he was most definitely a runner. Having once been a thief, it was far better to flee than to fight any pursuer. He had an athlete's body; years of sprinting, jumping, vaulting and gymnastics had left him with very little muscle mass but great flexibility and stamina. He differed from Alex, the black-belt muscled fighter, as he was skinny and thin. Alex, although not overly chiselled, was by far more muscled in comparison to Garfield. And it showed too, when only Alex could defend himself with his bare fists and expertly countered moves. The only thing Garfield could do was shooting, and he very much liked _not_ to do that. Using a gun was last resort, and only when he knew he had very little option. But he supposed he undermined that statement by carrying around a pistol at all times. He was slightly paranoid, yes, and found it best to at least keep himself armed in case rather than be sorry about not having a weapon later. He was an excellent marksman, having been personally trained by some of the best shooters around, and was more adept with a rifle or a handgun in his hands than say nothing at all. It ashamed him to be so feeble, but he really couldn't care less at the end of the day. He had been shaped into a thief. It wasn't his fault that hand-to-hand combat hadn't been deemed worthy of teaching for him. Sure he could punch, but he reckoned that he would do more pain to himself than his opposition.

Garfield scrubbed himself down with cheap shop bought soap, the suds pooling at his feet in the bottom of the tub and the smell of perfumes and scents filling the air. The aroma reminded him of freshness and newly mown grass. The bottle said 'Africa' on it. Garfield sorely doubted that the bottle would really contain the 'scent of Africa' if ever there was one; another misguided and pitiful attempt of marketing by some bath product company. It made him laugh, the absurdity of some of the names. Really, they all smelt the same and did the same job, so why should they fork out more money for a branded shower gel instead of just buying some cheap stuff for half the price which did exactly the same? Rinsing his hair, he exited the shower chuckling to himself, fetching a towel from the side that was warm from the radiators heat. As the water that the towel didn't dry dripped to the floor, absorbed by the spongy mat underfoot, he wiped the condensation off the mirror, examining himself once more. Still the same. Did he expect any different?

He dabbed himself as best he could, wiping off any excess water before he wrapped the towel around his waist, covering his nudity. He opened the bathroom door, met with a sudden rush of coldness. He always hated that. He sent Goosebumps running all over his body. He quickly made his way back into the bedroom, having made sure the shower was off first. He changed into clean clothes – work clothes – and gathered what gadgets and tools he may need today. MI5 had him working extra hours to compensate for the Omega incident, for which he was happy to oblige. See, he had an agreement with MI5. As he had been caught by Interpol, having been set up by a dying Greek tycoon, he had only two options; one was imprisonment, something he would very much like to avoid. The second was a longwinded sentence of serving MI5 since Alex Rider had been so successful and instead of wasting away in a cell Garfield would be put to use, given some liberties and privileges on the side as an added bonus. He'd accepted, and was now working out about five years of service. The only problem was that MI5 only counted the actual hours he was working, and not the hours he slept, or ate, or when he took breaks. It was all on the clock work, and so Garfield clutched at excuses just to cut extra time off, such as working at through lunch hours, working overtime and all sorts. He was chipping away hours upon hours with Omega about. It was practically twenty four seven work. Not that Mr Silver was pleased, but he was lenient. If Garfield kept this rate up he would be free to do what he liked in about four years, eight months and two days. It was going to be a long four years, eight months and two days…

He finished dressing himself, straightening out the clothes so he looked like he hadn't just been dragged through a bush and made his way back out. It would be about now that Wolf would force, demand even, him to have some breakfast – a slice of toast or an apple at least. Wolf hadn't been too happy when he had learnt of Garfield's obscure eating habits, sometimes going for days without touching a single scrap of food. It had almost become his mission to force-feed the teen; otherwise he doubted he would eat at all, much to Garfield's distaste. But no such command came. Instead, Wolf called from the den where he was clearing up old newspapers and the stacks of empty Blu-ray cases they had been watching the previous nights,

"There's a letter for you," he said, not really focusing on the actual gravity of that statement. Garfield saw it though, the slender white envelope sitting neatly on the kitchenette side. He stared at it, not moving, keeping his eyes fixated on it. He took in all the details, the address, the type of paper, the ink used and the postage stamp that came with it. It had been sent from South America – Buenos Aires to be exact. It was a too populated region to track the letter, clever. The paper was of high standard, having been kept and refined for premium use. So whoever had sent it was high up, powerful. The address was hand written, using long flowing strokes. Fountain pen, somebody with class and snobbery; the elongated curves on the letters such as 'g' and 'k' suggested so. They had pressed down hard on the paper, denoting a narcissistic nature. The ink was a glossy black, too regular to be taken actual note of but Garfield betted that he would find the ink of the same high quality as of the paper. The address itself was wrong, with the number fifteen instead of fourteen. Somebody either had an incorrect address or made a purposeful mistake. Garfield guessed at the latter. He took the letter gingerly, taking care not to rustle it about too much. All their post was supposed to be checked by MI5 in case of Omega attempting something underhand. It was unlikely, but they could never be safe. The wrong address stood out as the most glaringly obvious mistake.

"Mrs Rutherford came by earlier and dropped it off just before she went shopping. You were out on your jog." It was Wolf, startling Garfield out of his analysing, "Is something wrong?" he asked, ever worried as he always was. His brow was creased, the small bags under his eyes actually revealing how tired he really was. He was under enough stress as it was. He didn't need this. Garfield could deal with it himself,

"No!" he lied, smiling, "It's fine. I'd better be off. See you later at the restaurant?"

Wolf looked him over, trying to figure out the teen with piercing eyes. Garfield actually feared Wolf would press him for answers; request he opened the letter there and now. His heart beat in his ears. Why wouldn't he just let him go?

"Alright then," he said, shrugging his shoulders, finishing in good nature with a throaty chuckle, "Don't let them overwork you!" Garfield breathed a sigh of relief, laughing along with Wolf,

"Yeah, 'kay. I'll see you later then?"

"Yup, be there about six-ish."

"Adios," Garfield said just as he dashed out the door, snatching his keys and phone up as he went. Wolf called out after him,

"Adios mi Cachorro!"

Garfield cringed at the blatant disregard of Wolf's pet name for him. It was alright so long as it was kept behind closed doors, but he was half way outside! People could have heard!

He flashed down the steps for the second time, the letter pinched between his lips as he shrugged on a jacket. The weather was turning unpredictable, so it was best to keep warm. By the time he had reached the bottom of the stairs the jacket was on, and he swiped the letter from his mouth. His mind reeled with who could have sent it. He glanced at his watch; no time. He would need to get a taxi if he wasn't going to be late. Being late would mean extra hours, something which he wanted – no, _needed _– to avoid right now. He was walking down the road when one happened to pass by with extreme luck. He hailed it and clambered inside, using his contactless card to scan on the taxi's built-in scanner. Whatever the fare would be now was to be taken out of MI5's funds directly. One of his little perks. Garfield informed the cab driver to take him to the Houses of Parliament, and took out his phone for the journey. He opened up the calendar and organiser, inputting the new date of meeting with Tom tomorrow to discuss his brother's sudden appearance. Along with them, he had reams of MI5 meetings, presentations and rendezvouses to make. Smithers needed him early this morning to update the security on the servers; Cartman had asked to see him later for a report on the reconstruction of Mrs Jones' personal files and Silver had requested he join him for the weekly meeting on how the Omega investigation was progressing, something which he had never attended before. Everyone he worked with were buffoons, and saw no reason to go to a meeting to tell them where they were all slipping when he would rather just pick up on the work himself. Garfield sighed; he was only being forced to go to this one because Mr Silver apparently had important news he wished to share with the other directors. It was going to be a long day, and even longer due to Wolf's family later. He sighed again; why were these things so awkward and hard?

Amidst his whining and complaining, the letter once more grabbed his attention. It was as though it was purposefully there to annoy him, to irritate him into ripping off the seal and reading whatever was inside. But he really should do that at the Clock-tower under controlled conditions. For all he knew, there could be some airborne toxin trapped inside, just waiting to get out. But there it was; sitting where he had thrown it on the seat next to him when he had entered the cab. He stopped mid-way through typing. What harm could it surely do? If he was supposed to be dead, then for all he knew the taxi driver could secretly be an operative, driving him to his doom. He couldn't just tiptoe around the everyday item expecting it to be a trap. He was becoming like an old friend of his; paranoid and delusional. It was just a letter for goodness sake!

Garfield stole the letter with a swift grab. He tore the sealed top in less time than that, and out fell a photograph. A Polaroid, strange considering, but it told Garfield it was the original photo regardless of who had sent it. There was a letter inside the envelope, the same premium paper as the envelope itself. Somebody was saving at any expense for him. He bent down, picking up the photo. It was a dead man.

He examined the photo more closely, not really shocked by the gruesome image shown to him. He had had letters like this before, forced to solve crimes and cases of treason. This was no different.

The man was naked, laid spread-eagle on the floor. The camera had been taken from a slight angle above, showing most of the body but not one side. The man was overweight; a hanging pot-belly now turned a pale, sickly colour. There was wisps of dusty fair hair that ran across his navel and up his chest. He had a matching walrus moustache, which curled into sideburns across his face. His eyes were wide open, but Garfield couldn't tell their colour from the photo. He was bald on top, the moustache and sideburns wrapping around the skull but never on the scalp, only round the back of his head. He was, judging by the size of the random paraphernalia in the background, a stout man, maybe five foot or less. Garfield couldn't see what the cause of death was; perhaps it was an internal cause of a heart attack or cancer, or then again there could be a fatal wound on his back, or on the unseen side. He looked familiar, and it was then that Garfield realised who exactly he was staring at. Sure, the man had gained wrinkles and the hair had greyed a little perhaps. But there were definite traits that gave it away, like the varicose veins running down his leg, the typical moustache and the numerous tattoos he had. Garfield identified them all, running down his leg, navel, crotch, both arms and chest. And then Garfield looked at the bigger picture, no longer focusing on the tiny details and the identity of the man, but on the body as a whole. It was then he noticed the large Ω branded into the chest and rounded belly of the man.

This was Omega's handiwork, but he suspected it was not them who had contacted him. Garfield suspected very differently. He slid out the letter, folding it open:

_Dear Orphan,_

_The others are coming. You know where to go and how to get in touch. _

_I'm sorry, but come as soon as possible._

_Seer._

Garfield let the letter fall to his lap, still in hand. It couldn't be. Not after so long. They had made a deal. But obviously, that deal had been broken. He had no choice; he had to go. This had Omega literally written all over it. If there was Omega afoot then he could gain valuable information. He needed to go and gather intelligence, and truth be told, he owed a great debt. It was settled. He'd have to go as soon as possible, which translated to _right now_.

With the photo clutched between his middle and ring fingers of his right hand, he began tapping at his phone, deleting all his meetings and reports. This took priority. How long would this excursion last? Perhaps a while, or a few short days? He deleted everything after today, making sure he wasn't weighed down. But that involved missing meeting Wolf's family and Tom. He'd been planning this get together with Wolf's family for weeks. It was vital he attended. And Tom; he was in dire need of his help. He couldn't just abandon him, could he? His eyes wandered back to the photo of the dead man, the blaring Omega symbol screaming out at him. He had no choice. He deleted those meetings too, and opened up a new browser, accessing airport ticket websites. He needed to get a flight to China.

"Take me to Heathrow," he ordered the taxi driver, "and I'll pay you double if you keep quiet about it." With the promise of extra easy cash, he driver instantly made a turn, taking them in completely the opposite direction to where he was supposed to be going. He was going to miss Mr Silver's grand news as well. No matter; Garfield was sure it could wait until he got back.

With reality trailing behind him like exhaust fumes from the very cab he was riding in, Garfield went back into a world he swore he'd never return to. And all for Queen and country.

TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI

Wolf tapped his foot irritably as he stood waiting by the door. Every few minutes he would glance at his watch, only verifying the later and later it got. Pup was late – abnormally late. It was so unlike him, and he _knew _that Wolf had stressed the importance of this gathering. Had he thrown a sudden fit of rebellion and refused to come? Or had he suddenly lost his nerve and backed out, working overtime so as to avoid it or maybe heading home instead of to the restaurant. Wolf glanced at his watch again; he was now exactly an hour late. Where could he be? He had said six-ish, but it was no nearly eight o'clock. It was insane!

"Let's face it Tristan; this kid isn't coming." Wolf turned around, it was Harry – or Harold as was his full name. He looked a lot like Wolf, with the same shade of olive skin, the faint accent and the square shoulders. His jaw line was similar, only differentiated by the moustache he had. He very nearly had the same crew cut hair style as his younger brother, but he instead decided to grow longer sideburns. His eyes were emerald, matching their mother's hue. Being a fireman had left him with just the same amount of muscle mass as the soldier did, but he had the slightest of scars running down his left cheek. Wolf huffed,

"No. It's not like him. He'll be here."

"Trist, some of us have to work tomorrow. If he isn't going to turn up in the next hour or so then I'm going to have to call it a night," Amelia said, Wolf's eldest sister. She was far taller than the both of them, with a thin pencil like body that completely contrasted their own. Her torso rolled down in curves to her hips and then legs, dressed in a practical yet fitting black dress. Her hair was short, forced to be kept so due to her job as a surgeon. She had the same green eyes as her brother, and she was the eldest out of all of them. She had gentle features, with a small nose and flawless skin. She had looked after herself well, and refused to use harmful make-up or any other chemical drenched cosmetic product.

Peering back over their shoulders Wolf could see the younger generations (the family's' children) getting restless along with their parents and grandparents. Garfield would be one of them if all went well…

Wolf shook his head, refocusing himself. They should be eating by now. Wolf could also see his other siblings with their respective partners; Christopher, Sebastian, Lucinda, Beatrice (descending in age) and his mother and father. The children were fidgeting, losing patience in the slow wait for food. This was not like Garfield at all.

"Look, just bear with me alright?" Wolf persuaded, "I'm sure he's just caught up with something." Or so he hoped. Wolf took out his mobile and dialled Garfield's number for the hundredth time. Once more, as it had done the hundred times before, cut dead straight after the first ring. Then he thought of something different. He called the MI6 desk, gave his security number and military position and requested to speak with Smithers. The Omega incident had given him special privileges, which included swift contact with all head of operations and such.

He let it ring, keeping only half his attention focused on his phone, about a quarter on the main door and the rest on his family behind him. He could feel his eldest brother and sister hovering about over his shoulder, obviously trying to sneak in on the conversation he was about to possibly have. They were caring, but a little prying at times. Before he could complain, however, Smithers picked up on the other end of the line,

"Ah! Mr Alvarez, it's actually rather convenient you should call. I was wondering if-" Wolf interrupted before he could finish, his patience wearing thin himself, not just the children,

"Have you seen Pup…? I mean Garfield." Wolf sighed, stumbling so recklessly at his adoptive son's names in front of his very family, "Has he left yet?"

"Err… Mr Alvarez, Agent Viking never showed up today. He just cancelled his agenda and vanished. Nobody's been able to contact him. We were wondering you if you had any better luck." Wolf nearly dropped the phone. He didn't turn up into work? Where was he then?

"Where is he? Can't you find him? Use the GPS in his mobile, track where he's going… something!"

"I'm afraid I can't: if Garfield is anything then he is my equivalent with electronics. He's simply gone."

Garfield was gone… and Wolf's family were waiting for his son that was now never going to appear.

He swallowed as his throat went dry. What could he do?

**I hope I have left you with enough mystery to mull over; do please tell me what you think. Once again, reviews are appreciated, and I will respond to them in the next chapter as always. **

**Anyway, Happy New Year to all who haven't read The Rider Conspiracy yet, and may this year be a good one!**

**(Also, side note; I have kept brief of the description of Wolf's family, so I'll try and introduce them properly later on.)**

**I will update as soon as I can, but for now I have decided to give you a little taste of what to expect.**

**Thanks – K9**


	2. Travel

**I am very sorry for the long wait! I have been bombarded with numerous exams, revision and such I have to contend with. Now that I have some spare time on my hands, I finally finished this chapter. I do hope you all haven't lost interest!**

**In response to reviews:**

**Monkey DeRanged: Thanks for reviewing! And here's the next chapter for you… XD**

**ForgottenStory: Thanks, and yeah, here's the next update. Apologies for tardiness.**

**Dani9513: Thanks for reviewing! :D**

**2whitie: No, you're missing nothing on the dead dude. This chapter will answer some questions. I hope this will once more pique your interest! :D Thanks for reviewing anyhow!**

**Jellie Smiff: Thanks :3 Here's the next chapter.**

**Getsumen Kage no Mai: You're referring to The Rider Conspiracy? Thanks, and I agree, Alex Rider is actually very dark when you get down to the details, such as him going to space, seeing his own guardian get blown apart and having to live through getting sniped in the **_**heart**_**. Sorry about the cliffie DX**

**Previously in The Viking Incursion:**

**We are introduced to the tender yet somewhat abstract paternal bond between Wolf and Garfield. All seems well, with everyday obstacles facing them both. Tom's brother Jerry has approached him requesting that they talk, and Garfield is about to meet Wolf's family. A normal day, or so we are lead to believe…**

**Garfield receives a strange, curt letter addressing him as the 'Orphan' and demanding he attend some kind of meeting. With the letter is a photo of a dead man whom Garfield recognises, and upon doing so immediately drops everything in response to the letter; which includes Wolf's familial meeting, his MI5 responsibilities and Tom's domestic problem. Wolf is left dumbfounded by his soon-to-be adopted son, as are many others.**

**Here's what happens next.**

**Chapter 2: Travel**

Wolf had to think, and he had to think carefully. Where could Garfield have gotten to? He wouldn't be at home; far too obvious. He wouldn't be holing up somewhere with any of his friends; that again was too obvious, and somebody would have given the game away by now if he had. He hadn't just avoided the meeting; he had simply just stopped what he was doing and left. He had never turned up to work. So this wasn't just an extreme case of nerves, but then that left the question as to _what _had made him vanish? There was nothing different about today, no Omega attacks had come up, nothing.

Wolf thought back further, picking through the tiniest of details like his son might have. What was different about today? What had been out of order? He himself had drunk the same amounts of coffee; Pup had gone on his usual morning run (something which Wolf hoped to join him on some day), taken a shower and left for work. Nothing unusual at all…

Wolf's mind cast back to the letter. Something _had _been wrong. Garfield had been lying. He had stared at that letter like it had come from Hell itself. It was the only other option Wolf could think of. He had never shown for work, yet he had left the flat with that letter in his hand. So somewhere between leaving home and heading to the Clock-tower, Garfield had read the letter and decided to go silent on the radar.

Now he had to remember what the letter was, where it had come from, possibly who by. Wolf recalled the address. Buenos Aires. But what could Garfield possibly want or need in South America? And this was Pup he was trying to figure out here, the most backward, mind-boggling kid he had ever met. It wouldn't just be _that_ obvious… would it?

"You okay there Trist?" Sebastian said as he joined the small mingling group by the front door. He had overhead the commotion Wolf was causing. Being the second to youngest brother he was always trying to get into the thick of things, striving for the attention he had lost so quickly to Wolf. There was only a year's difference in age between them, less than that in fact. He had a small rounded face with dark brown eyes, shadowed by a far lighter shade of olive skin than the rest of the siblings. He was far stouter, however, and with fewer muscles, and was developing only the slightest of stomachs. He worked in the police as a crime scene investigator – one of the men who stayed behind the scenes and out of sight of the public. He often specialised in forensic science, and had become one of the best in the force according to some, but purely all by hear-say.

"I'm fine," Wolf hissed quickly, his eyes pinched in concentration. It would never be that obvious. Smithers was still on the line, and being the next person to have best known Garfield available, Wolf asked him, "Pup got a letter today, it wasn't checked; came from Buenos Aires apparently. Do you think it could be a decoy or something?" Smithers thought for a moment, humming,

"Possibly," he drawled, "that _is_ rather his style… I can't say if it's going to help us though." There was a clatter of keys in the background, rattling across so that Wolf could hear it, "I think we may have just caught him on CCTV in Heathrow. You may actually be right about Buenos Aires there Wolf, thank you for the information. We can… oh dear…"

"What?" Wolf spat, "What? What is it?"

"Orders have been issued for Garfield's arrest… I'm very sorry Wolf. If I had known I wouldn't hav-"

"Can't you revoke them? Take the orders back or something?" he pleaded impatiently, storming over to the table to snatch up his coat. The children all chattered and begged Wolf to stay but he was in no mood. He ignored them, ignoring all their protests, even those of his brothers, sisters and parents.

"I'm afraid I can't. From the highest authority, straight from Mr Silver himself. Says that Agent Viking is a loose cannon and needs to be reined in." he sighed, "I really am very sorry Wolf. I don't like to see it when the government abuses children like this."

"I know, I know; neither do I, but they pay our bills remember." Wolf unlocked his truck, throwing in the coat onto the other seat and slipping the phone into the hands-free device, "Can't you stall them? Something is wrong with Garfield, and arresting him won't solve it."

"I'll see what I can do, but I'm tied up at this end. What I _can_ do won't actually be a lot." Then Smithers hung up abruptly after a short scuffle. It almost sounded like he had been forced to, having been interrupted mid-sentence. Wolf tried to think nothing of it; Smithers would be fine. He was the slipperiest of MI6 agents he had ever seen.

"Tristan?" Wolf's mother called out after him, hobbling along the restaurant pathway to catch her son, "Tristan, honey, is everything okay? Where are you going?" His father was right behind her, as well as his eldest siblings. He didn't have time. Revving the engine, he put it into gear and with surprising force, rammed the clutch into gear. He sped off, the petrol-singed air choking his family's lungs as he left them behind in his flurry. He had to get to Garfield before MI6 or MI5 did. Who knows what they would do to him considering the current state of security? Wolf dreaded to think, and spurred on by the thought alone of Garfield locked away for some menial disobedience twisted his gut ion the wrong way. His foot pressed down harder on the accelerator, his speed picking up, diving in and between traffic.

TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI

Wolf paced through the terminal, scanning for departures. Smithers had told him he would most likely be going to Buenos Aires, for reasons unknown as of yet. His eyes flitted through the listings, picking out the gates he needed to get to. All the while, he couldn't help but shake the feeling something was wrong; off. He couldn't put his finger on it, but it slithered its way right to his core. Unhappily, he glanced about his surroundings, trying to pick out the flaws with the scene of bustling passengers before him. But, try as he might, nothing came to him; everything was _too_ normal.

A gate number was called out over the speakers; a flight to Aeroparque Jorge Newbery, Argentina, boarding to remain open for five minutes more. A passenger was late. Could it be Pup, making a hasty escape? It certainly fit the bill, a last minute flight to Argentina, where Buenos Aires was. With nothing left in his head except getting to Garfield before he was too late, Wolf dashed off to the gate. He was whisked by security by flashing the lovely ID MI5 had benefitted with him. He raced along, checking and crossing off each gate as he passed them. Pup had to be around here somewhere.

Then Wolf got to the gate he was looking for. Pup was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he was already on board? There was only one way to find out. He stomped up to the desk, about to demand whether or not Garfield was on the plane before an attendant suddenly seized him by the arm and dragged him to the side, out of sight.

"Hey!" Wolf protested, "What do you think you're doing?"

The young attendant sighed, doing his best to silence him. He was dressed in some ghastly uniform jacket, fluorescent and wearing an oversized airline hat that was far too many sizes too big. It covered most of his face, obscuring it from view. He made shushing noises, putting his finger to his lips in a desperate attempt to quieten Wolf. The soldier was having none of it.

"No, I order you to disembark that flight right now and give me an itinerary of the passengers."

Suddenly, the attendants hand clamped over Wolf's mouth, slamming him against the wall with astounding force and speed. Wolf was about to retaliate, to hit back and beat up the guy who had dared try and forcibly silence him, but then he caught the attendant's face. His eyes went wide with shock, but soon that shock was replaced by confusion and mild anger. The attendant held a finger to his lips, slowing letting go but not removing the finger. Wolf understood the point; keep quiet regardless.

"What the hell are you playing at?" Wolf growled in a low hush, "Are you freaking insane?"

The attendant removed his hat, a single blue lock of hair falling from inside it, tucked and hidden away. Garfield glanced around the corner,

"For the past six minutes, you have been followed by three men. Agents sent here for me and not you. They're after me because I'm not 'playing ball'." He looked back to Wolf, "You shouldn't have come here."

Wolf was astonished by the fact alone he was being followed. That was what must have been off. He looked as well, picking out only one man. Where were the others?

"Why shouldn't have I come?" he asked in a quiet whisper, "What's going on Pup? Why are you going to Buenos Aires?"

"One, it's doesn't concern you. Two, none of your business and three, I'm not going to Buenos Aires." Garfield bit his lip, thinking intently. He wouldn't have a choice now. Things were a mess, "No time now; you're coming with me."

"Wait… what?" Wolf was once more tugged along, pulled out into the open with Garfield. He stammered with his questions, searching for answers that Blue was never going to give. He tapped at his phone, with his left hand, yanking Wolf with his right as he went.

"I can't believe this, now I've got to get _you_ a ticket to Shanghai as well; avoid agents out to get the pair of us and solve a flipping murder all the while saving our skins from Omega." He sighed, "Oh the joys of adoption…"

Garfield's fingers flew across the screen, rifling through protocols and firewalls. He smirked; MI5 thought they could fool him. He knew their system too well. He _designed_ the system. There wasn't anything he couldn't do.

They got the main terminal again. A different gate; they were running out of time.

"Why are you going to Shanghai?" Wolf urged, "Pup, tell me what's going on." With sudden force, he whirled Garfield around; grabbing both is arms in each hand so that the teen had no choice but to face him. Wolf bent down a little, leaning closer, staring into his ward's eyes, "Please. I don't care if you're in some kind of trouble, or whether you've committed some kind of crime; I'm your dad. Whatever this is, we're in it together. Now tell me what's going on." Garfield hesitated,

"Not here. On the plane. Not now." Wolf sighed, but reluctantly he let go, nodding.

"Alright, but if you try and sneak off again there will be far worse consequences young man."

"Yes _daddy_…" Garfield mocked, diverting his attention back to the first of Wolf's pursuers. He knew that he himself had been careful, but not the blithering soldier. Wolf had to be the only way of actually finding the teen. It looked like MI5 were unwilling to let their greatest asset go so easily. But there were pressing matters to attend to.

Garfield approached the man, who was dressed in a floral patterned shirt, unbuttoned at the top. He wore sunglasses, shorts and sandals completing the whole 'tourist' look. But Garfield saw through the disguise; it was too obvious, a covert fail of being inconspicuous. The man even tried to act friendly. He was an amateur. Garfield glanced over him, picking out the details he knew he would need:  
><em>Weak left knee – Bullet wound. Two years old. He is leaning his weight on the right leg, keeping his left as straight as possible. It can only be the knee that hurts.<br>Cat lover – Irrelevant. There were faint claw marks along his hand and tiny hairs along the seams of his clothing.  
>Lack of combat experience – He was an office worker, not an agent. His hair was too close cut, too trimmed than any normal man would care. Impressions were important, and both practical. His sandals had been thrown on at last minute, a size too small so they dug into the skin, leaving red welts.<br>Handgun tucked into belt – The shirt had been carelessly tucked in with it, although not directly revealing the firearm. Too small for any other, too large for a knife or pair of handcuffs.  
>Left handed – The gun was placed in the belt the other way around so that his left hand could reach the gun first. Advantage? Garfield, being right handed, had just about the same amount of chance of reaching the gun as he did.<br>Smoker – Irrelevant. The nicotine stains on his fingernails and the yellowed teeth. An easy observation.  
>Slow reflex time – Garfield and Wolf had already made it half way towards him before he <em>properly_ noticed. Even now he wasn't securing his firearm.  
>Two children… two daughters – Irrelevant… or was it? Two <em>teenage_ daughters; spoilt and adoring. The choice of clothing was cheap. He had spent his money on someone else. Not his wife, the marriage was failing (his ring had been removed despite having no effect on his disguise at all. Garfield could make out the red indentation where the ring had been becoming too small for him. He hadn't had it resized: again, the expenses were not wasted on him) so all his savings would be piled onto his children. One daughter perhaps, but the watch on his wrist was a gift, a typical 'Father's Day' model. Too expensive for one child, and only a gift teenagers would think of. Major advantage to Garfield: he could play the innocent teen.  
>A regular boxer – His upper lip was slightly protruding. He was used to wearing a gum shield. His stance was automatically defensive, his fists curling already: his mind was already setting into his boxing mode with gloves. His nose was broken, untypically of regular broken noses. This had been from a haymaker, the groove and angles were atypical of any other fist attacks. He also held himself with too much confidence. Recently promoted, he was eager to prove himself, just as he would have done in the ring. Second advantage to Garfield, coupled with weak left knee: his legs would be his most exposed spot. <em>

Garfield shot back into his own mind, just as he came up to the man. He smiled, leering down at Garfield as his hand snaked back to draw the gun. Garfield didn't give him chance, crouching down low and pulling his elbow back before rocketing it forward with as much force as he dared. It arced and slammed into the left knee of the man, who collapsed in pain and clutched at his now-agonising left knee. The teen didn't wait around for him to recover. He shot off with Wolf in tow, speeding away from the scene of the assault.

"Pup…" Wolf said uneasily, but he never finished his sentence. They were coming up to the other terminal. The gates and security guards made a large barrier that would be almost impossible to get through, but Garfield spotted the other two followers, and young woman dressed as a corporate worker and a business man similarly dressed. They both hobbled over with humungous shoes that squeaked with every step. Comically, they looked rather like penguins the way their arms stuck to their sides like toy soldiers.

Garfield didn't wait. He rushed up to one guard, welling tears in his eyes on command. He had Wolf tag along, completing the hurt child and respective father look. With a quivering lip, he leaned up and whispered in a guards ear quite loudly,

"I heard those mean, nasty people talking about a bomb." The guard's face suddenly drained of colour, replaced with steely rage, "Are they gonna blow up the aeroplane?" He made sure to keep up his façade of sadness and young innocence. It may have been a stretch too far given his age, but it did the trick nonetheless. Rumours rippled out amongst the passengers, forcing the guards to act fast. Whilst the clamour built up into a cacophony, the security personnel trampled forward, seizing both the penguin-agents, piling up on top of them before they were lost in the throng of people.

"Now all we have to do is get on that plane," Garfield mumbled to Wolf, dragging themselves both through the gates unnoticed by the poor attendants.

They rushed forwards, making a bee line for the gate. The scrabble at the security check point had caused quite the commotion, and people were being far less observant than they should have been. He waltzed up to a mesmerised airline employee, smiling cheerfully. By convention, they smiled back, returning the pleasantries that the airline insisted upon. Both he and Wolf were whisked down the walkway and towards the plane with regular comments of 'Enjoy your flight' echoing off behind them.

Before Wolf knew it, he was sitting in first class, beverages and food items already being shoved in his face in a seeming offer. He waved them all off, keen to get down straight to the point. Garfield was sitting on the opposite side of the plane, accepting a glass of water off a beautiful looking attendant who flicked her hair every two seconds, beaming down at the teen. Wolf made to get up, but was forced down roughly by another attendant, this time a male one who was balding round the back of his head. When he spoke, his voice had an exaggerated effeminate tone,

"Please remain seated sir while the plane takes off."

Huffing, Wolf obediently did as he was told. While he waited, he glared at Garfield, burning two holes in the teen's head in a desperate attempt of attracting his attention. But when that didn't work, he tried calling to him,

"Pup!" No response, "PUP!" Garfield continued to ignore him; instead he gazed out of the window blanking Wolf. The soldier growled in discontent, eager to have answers. The plane was buffeted about, rocked by turbulence before Wolf was had enough. Dismissing the pleas of the cabin crew, he undid his belt and moved across to Garfield's side of the cabin. He was a soldier, not a child. It wasn't like he was going to be thrown about like some voodoo doll randomly.

"Pup…" he growled, flicking the teen in the forehead when he failed to listen, "Look at me when I am speaking to you." Reluctantly, Garfield turned to face Wolf, actual worry and fear in his eyes. Wolf sighed, his heart softening against all odds, undermining the gruff soldier persona he loved to wear, "Look, it's alright. I'm here. Talk to me; tell me what's going on. Why are you acting so… so… so _paranoid_?"

Garfield didn't answer. He fixed Wolf with a frosty glare. He was certainly acting strange. The teen's hand slipped into his pocket and drew out an envelope, half crumpled but still intact.

"Tell me, what do you make of this?" He asked, offering his letter to Wolf. The soldier took it with cautious hands, and unfolded what was given to him. He read the letter first, and then cast a glance over the photo, shaking his head when he saw the dead man.

"What is this?" Wolf demanded, waving the letter around, "Who's the Seer? Who are these 'others'...?" he noticed that the letter was addressed not to Garfield himself, but to the Orphan. "Is this what I think it is?"

"Don't just question everything you see Wolf," Garfield snapped, "Most people can just _see_. That's boring and dull and gets us nowhere. I need you to _read_." He pointed at the photograph and the letter, "They are not just mere pictures and letters, they are books with valuable information. _Read them._"

Wolf sighed, knowing that that was as close as he would get to an explanation. He gazed over what he had again, trying to pick out details he thought were useful. The only thing he could come up with was the emblazoned scar of the Omega symbol on the dead man's chest.

"This man was a member of Omega?" he suggested, "He either turned or was working with them, but then had to die?"

"Close…" Garfield smiled, but the compliment was short lived, his smile instantly fading, "But no. If this man was an operative, then he would be burnt to a cinder and not here as proof of Omega's dealings. In fact I would go as far as to say that he is an advertisement for me." He stopped, staring out the window for a moment to watch the clouds pass by before adding, "But you're missing all the obvious details." Wolf huffed, tossing the papers onto the small table that lay between their chairs.

"Go on," he sighed, "I know you're dying to tell me."

"No need to be snippy," the teen scolded, straightening out his clothes where he sat, "Firstly, the man in the photograph has been marked with a serrated knife with the Omega symbol. The callous choice of weapon, known by the torn, puckered edges of the wound, shows the killers disregard for their life, and the lack of blood stains tells us the wound was made after the kill. So the killer therefore had time, even so that they could make the rather large incisions. Next, we know that the man is covered in tattoos. His pot belly and varicose legs suggests he does not endorse himself in physical labour, yet travels. It is safe to assume then that he is a driver or pilot, further amplified by his moustache and tattoo over his heart." Wolf interjected,

"What? How on Earth can you know that?"

"Just shut up and listen," Garfield barked, his eyes glaring at Wolf. For once the soldier actually felt threatened by the teen. Even if it was just for a single brief second he sensed a dark change in his demeanour, like a tense cord suddenly snapping with a fast click. The teen's eyes darkened, reflected a shadowy alter ego. Was this the Orphan that Garfield wanted to forget so much about? "Over the man's chest, barely distinguishable underneath the wound, is a tattoo of the flag of Finland, right over the heart. The moustache is of unusual style, and does not suit the man, nor his figure. If the moustache is so obviously out of place then it must have some sentiment for him to keep it and prune it. So we're looking at patriotism, fitting with the flag over the heart. We can then deduce he is in fact Finnish, verifying the fact that he is a driver as the Finnish have one of the most arduous driving tests there are in the entire world. This man is an expert, having travelled the globe from all the different styles and designs of tattoos he has, at piloting any kind of vehicle. He's a contractor, a paid driver for any kind of needs; otherwise he wouldn't just be randomly dead to make an example. He has purpose, _specific_ purpose." Garfield paused, searching for the best way to say what he was about to say next, "It is that reason he is called the Pilot…"

"The Pilot?" A stewardess came over offering alcohol and food, but Wolf waved them away once more, keen to get to the bottom of this, "Why is he called the Pilot?"

"Because I used to work with him under that title."

The gravity of that statement blew Wolf away. The whole scenario became clear to him; Garfield was getting roped up in something to do not just with his past but also present events as well. With Omega potentially involved and now old ghosts meddling with long since buried memories, Wolf could understand why it was taking such a massive toll on the teen. He wanted to do something at least to comfort him, but doubted any action would be taken as help. If anything, Garfield seemed more wary of Wolf.

"But that's not it though, is it?" Wolf pressed gently, noting how Garfield turned away, breaking the important eye contact. The teen was cracking,

"There were five of us; me, the Seer," He pointed to the letter, "The Pilot," then at the photograph, "The Gambler and the Mistress. We were a small criminal team organised for high profile heists. Originally, we only came about by accident whilst trying to steal the same hard drive of a big business tycoon who was exploiting a country for billions, but because we caught the attention of the police we had to make a deal; twenty per cent each so long as we worked together. It was great truimph, and the Seer noticed our potential. From then on in she would round us up, provide us with a target and arrange anything we needed. Our funds and contacts came from the Gambler, a Texan tycoon himself, and supplied us with ample finances for whatever we wanted. The Pilot would be our getaway driver if we needed one, and the Mistress was our decoy, our ploy for the mark. She would use her 'womanly charm' on any man or woman to whatever end we desired. I was the thief, the trained professional who did all the legwork and difficult stuff. My age and intellect gave me the advantage over everyone else. I was underestimated, overlooked and came up with most of the plans." Garfield chuckled, "Our first heist officially together was a fantastic success. We stole and smuggled the Mona Lisa right from under the French noses."

"But the Mona Lisa was never stolen…" Wolf helpfully pointed out, "It's still on show, for all the public to see…"

"Precisely," Garfield grinned slyly, "That's why it was such a huge success." Wolf laughed too, and for a moment all the troubles and horrors seemed so far away, down below on the planet's surface while they soared through the air away from it all. The laughter died away after a few minutes, and settled into a comfortable silence. Wolf, however, was to break it first,

"So why are we going to Shanghai and not Buenos Aires…" He tapped at the postage stamp, "It was clearly posted from South America."

"Ah, that's a simple code you see," Garfield explained patiently, "Once we disbanded after a spate of successful thefts, we needed to lay low. However, it posed the problem should we ever need to contact one another again; we could be being possibly watched. So, together we devised an easy method of temporarily throwing any followers off our tail by having this special code. Because Shanghai and Buenos Aires are both densely populated areas, it makes tracking hard. They are also coincidentally near exact opposites on the globe, give or take a few miles. We can then divide the world into two new hemispheres; one with Buenos Aires at its apex, and Shanghai at the other. Whichever city we are closest to, we send the letter or parcel from the opposite one. Then only the five… or rather four of us will know where to truly go."

"But then what happens if you are nowhere near the city itself, but rather in an entirely other country?" Wolf questioned, now rapt with attention. It was all intriguing; he had never known Garfield to be this… _devious_ about the whole business of espionage.

"Once we arrive in whichever city, we are usually given further details – an extra clue, perhaps, or directions to go to someplace else." Garfield supplied without heart. His mind was elsewhere now, and Wolf had no idea what he was thinking about. To him, the kid seemed almost pained. Slowly, a childish smile spread across Wolf's face, completely out of place with his hardened features and few days of darkened stubble. An idea had manifested itself in his mind; something that he was certain would drag Pup out of his mental recess,

"I spy with my little eye, something beginning with…"

TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI

Together, Wolf and Garfield idly strode their way out of the Arrivals terminal. With no bags or suitcases, all they had was the money in their pockets and the clothes on their backs. The terminal was very modern, clean and clinical. Wolf made sure to act casual and normal around Garfield, keeping up his role of father figure in their little charade. The teen on the other hand was keeping his eyes peeled for any further information that may be of some importance.

It was to their surprise, however, that a stout Asian man dressed in a chauffeur style outfit held a placard. Written upon this placard, however, were the words 'The Orphan' in bold, scratchy handwriting.

"Trap much?" Wolf mocked, nodding towards the chauffeur who was looking directly at them, "I'd score two out of ten for stealth."

"Sometimes to be covert means to be blatantly overt," Garfield countered, but sighed, adding, "Although in this case I would agree with you. It is strangely suspicious. It was never the Seer's method to send personal drivers." He started to walk towards the chauffeur, Wolf tagging along behind him, "But, we don't have much choice. Into oblivion we go."

The man bowed before them as they came nearer, and Garfield returned the gesture, jabbing Wolf with an elbow to the abdomen to do the same. The man smiled, and with pleasantries out of the way he wordlessly led them to the taxi pick-up and drop-off zone. There, utterly out of place and glimmering in the setting sunlight, was a traditional black cab, ready and waiting in all its glory.

"This is such a terrible trap," Wolf muttered before getting dragged along by Garfield to the open door that the chauffeur had kindly got for them. The pair of them climbed inside, never speaking a word to him. It felt like a freezer, frigid air bit at their skin. The car's heating hadn't had chance to warm the interior up yet… interesting. Garfield deduced that whoever had arranged this knew of his coming; if it was not the Seer then who?

Opposite them sat an unremarkable man, dressed in a three piece suit, an umbrella clutched in one hand and an infinitely small bowler hat perched precariously atop of his narrow pointed head. His hair was a neatly combed rag of black strands that barely clung to his scalp, his lips were thin, and his eyes thin also. He seemed awfully out of his comfort zone as he sat there watching them silently. Garfield made note of all the details he could; the coffee stain on the left hand sleeve, the wrinkles on his forehead, the crumpled clothes and constant fidgeting about in his seat. The teen quickly made what he could of the writing and design before, abruptly, the man snapped something behind him in Cantonese, and the chauffeur pulled out into traffic.

"Ah, Mr Doe, how good to see you still alive after all this time!" Garfield said cheerily, as though he were greeting a friend. His smile hid the ferocity which lay hidden underneath his voice. Wolf wasn't sure he liked this new Garfield very much.

"Mutual returns to you Orphan," Mr Doe said in a posh tone, waving his hand that clutched the umbrella in a sweeping fashion, "I see you decided not to come alone. You appear to have brought some muscle this time. Are you shagging him too?"

Wolf choked on his own words, angered that this random man would suggest such a thing. But then his mind suddenly questioned why the man was asking if Garfield was having sex with him. The kid was underage! He was totally out of synch with the whole scenario.

"Gar… _Orphan_," he said carefully once regaining his composure, "What the fuck is he on about?"

"Nothing," Garfield dismissed brusquely, "Wolf, this is John Doe; the prime example of a typical Brit." He turned to John, "Mr Doe, this is my _guardian_, Wolf."

"What, no name for the brooding gentleman, yet you call him by some kind of pet name? Of course you're not fucking…" he taunted Garfield, winking somewhat and smiling awkwardly with his disproportionate mouth. He turned to Wolf, "A pleasure to make your acquaintance. I would shake your hand… but I don't trust foreigners."

"And there you have the good old British arrogance," Garfield applauded, "Shame your job involves you working closely with these so called '_foreigners_'." The teen addressed Wolf, "John Doe here is the British criminal ambassador of the Chinese Triads on British soil. He helps to make all the arrangements when our territory." He lowered his voice to a whisper, smiling apologetically, "_Just a side note, he sees you as a foreigner since you are Spanish in origin. Sorry."_

"Whatever you are doing here in Shanghai, I would very much like you to not get involved. My masters would be very displeased if you interfered with our operations." John Doe rapped his fingers on the umbrella handle, "I don't know what you're doing, but I'll be watching."

"Sorry?" Garfield asked feigning ignorance, "I didn't quite catch that, could you say it again please?" John Doe cleared his throat, his fingers rapping once more against the umbrella handle,

"I said I don't know what you're doing, but my associates and I will be watching and waiting _at all times_."

"Liar," Garfield said bluntly, "You have a tell; you keep tapping your fingers against your umbrella. Some things never change." He smiled, returning the derogatory mocking. "You know that once I step out of this cab you are going to have an impossible chance of tracking me. You also know why I am here, but not the specific details." Suddenly, the teen changed the subject, "How was your train ride over here anyhow?" Mr Doe was taken aback,

"I beg your pardon?"

"You look as though you haven't slept in a while, having been rushed from wherever you were previously staying. Now, judging that we have just arrived in an area where Mandarin just so happens to be the predominant dialect, you gave orders to that chauffeur of yours in Cantonese. He's armed, and since he is driving you around then I can only assume him to be a body guard of some calibre. You have both come from somewhere that speaks Cantonese on the whole, almost undetectable if it weren't for your excessive British accent. You have recently gotten off a train as you have not been here for very long; the car's ambient temperature is cold to the point that even you find it uncomfortable, as you fidget too much. But that isn't the only reason as to why you are fidgeting. You have been travelling for some time, so we can rule out transport by air and by car, therefore it leaves me with the only conclusion that you have travelled by train, accompanied by that food smear on the corner of your lip. Breakfast, was it?" Garfield smiled, "I would suspect that Hong Kong is rather popular this time of year. Perhaps I'll pay a visit?" Mr Doe's own grin faded, falling to a thin flat line. His face became darker. Maybe it was just the light, but suddenly he seemed so much more malicious,

"You must watch yourself Orphan…" he sneered, "One wrong move and I could have you shipped back to England in thousands of tiny packages." The car pulled up outside a train station, and just as quickly as the evil Mr Doe had appeared, he was gone, like Jekyll and Hyde, "But since I can't hold back your curiosity, I'll give you a helping hand." He passed over two tickets for the bullet train to Hong Kong. Garfield accepted them, snatching them out of his hand with a curt nod. Without another word, the teen clambered out of the taxi with Wolf following. The door slammed shut behind them, and the taxi sped back off into the road.

"Well, he was certainly…" Wolf began, but he noticed Garfield staring at the taxi intently. He wondered what was wrong. The teen held up a hand so as to pause Wolf, momentarily giving them their own personal silence in the bustling street.

Then, suddenly, as Wolf followed the taxi with his eyes it exploded into a violent ball of fire and flame. It churned itself into the air, swallowing up the oxygen as it climbed higher and higher into the heavens before collapsing in on itself. The wreckage burnt with a beautiful efficiency, tearing itself apart by the seams. Wolf stood there aghast,

"You knew that was going to happen?" he meekly asked, "Did you plant a bomb?"

"No…" Garfield said slowly, "But I knew there was one there. Omega is trying to draw us out; we know that from the photograph. We also know that Omega took control of Scorpia's assets when they fell. But it would appear they lost out on the Chinese Triads and their smuggling business. They would have been pissed; the Triads are the biggest smuggling empire the world has ever seen. They'd want revenge, they'd want it back – if John Doe was alive then he must have been hiding, undetected by Omega. So, to catch him in the open they needed to give him bait; me." Garfield glanced about himself, checking his surroundings. He hated being in alien territory, he didn't know the rules or the playing field. He was, for lack of a better word, lost. "I think we should be very careful who we speak to from now on Wolf. Not only do we have Omega stalking us but now we have Chinese Triads on our tail. That explosion won't go unanswered. We will be blamed and then we will be in deep shit."

Wolf shivered, suddenly feeling exposed as they stood in the middle of the street. Placing a protective arm around Garfield's shoulder, he lead the way to the train station as the sound of sirens and screams rang out from all around, rushing to the writhing carcass of the old English cab.

**So, interested once more? Yes? No? Tell me in your reviews! :D**

**I should be back on track, but during the next few months updates may seem erratic and random… which they will be, as I have exams and such. Therefore, if you would just bear with me and I will try and keep focused!**

**I'd like to know your thoughts on where this story is going, so please leave your comments and criticisms in the reviews, thanks! :D**

**And one more overall thanks – K9**


	3. Realisation

**Thank you to all who are being patient with my updates, and thanks to those who are actually sticking with this and reading it! I know my updates have been lately erratic, but been busy and whatnot, so bear with.**

**I decided to go with a darker twist for the chapter. It can't all just be sunshine and happiness and wins for the good guys, can it?**

**Anyway, I'll let you read on, and get on with the responses and summaries.**

**In response to reviews: **

**Getsumen Kage no Mai: Ahaha, thanks for the review! :D I do have trouble coming up with names, especially foreign ones where I don't know if I'm going to be offensive or something DX I do try my best though, honest! Thanks for the compliments on the analysis, a bit more of it in this chapter too!**

**2whitie: Garfield does sound like Sherlock, only sneakier and like a spy! :D Thanks for the review!**

**Jellie Smiff: Thanks! I do try and craft a fine story line. The amount of preparation is absurd! Here's another chapter to surprise you, and thanks for reviewing! :D**

**TomC: Thanks for the correction. I have gone back and changed the chapter to suit the facts! Sorry, my knowledge when writing in foreign territory is bleak at best. Thanks for reviewing!**

**Owltalon: Here's the long awaited update! Fret not; my exams will pass with a breeze! I just need to get the grades and I'll be home free! I hope the drama in this chapter is well suited. It will all come together I promise! Thanks for the good luck; I'll need it! :D And thanks for reviewing!**

**Previously in the Viking Insurgence:**

**An erratic behaving Garfield drags Wolf away from his family and work to pursue his ward. Oblivious to those following him, Wolf is forced into accompanying Garfield as they escape Britain for reasons unknown, evading the capture of MI5 agents through the teen's quick wits.**

**However, on the plane to Shanghai, Wolf is persistent, and eventually gets Garfield to talk. He reveals that, during his past, he was part of a select group of criminals who carried out near-impossible heists. He shows Wolf the letter explaining that Omega could be involved in one of his peer's murder. With the possibility of information and the gravity of the situation, Garfield set out immediately, clarifying why he left so abruptly. **

**Upon arrival the duo are faced with the stereotypical Mr John Doe who represents the newly acquired Snakehead operations and also a figure from the teen's past. Garfield deduces that the Snakehead is aware of their actions and of his former peers, and so believes he must now tread carefully if he is to survive. They part on frayed terms, both expressing their dislike for one another. To make matters worse, John Doe is promptly killed not soon after, to which Garfield explains is due to Omega's discontent over losing the Snakehead from Scorpia. As hostility grows, the pair was left travelling to converge with the rest of Garfield's former team.**

**Here's what happened next…**

**Chapter 3: Realisation**

Wolf and Garfield wandered in through the revolving doors of the hotel lobby, clutching shopping bags of whatever clothing they would need, or more pressingly, could afford. Garfield had forbid that Wolf use credit or debit cards, not just because of the exchange rate and cost but more so because he was certain MI6 would be tracking any transactions. For now they had a thin veil of secrecy. No one back in England knew they were on the other side of the world, but it wouldn't take long before someone went back over the CCTV footage and realised their error of judgement.

They walked up to front desk, attracting the attention of many other men and women who gave them odd sidelong glances. Wolf stood their awkwardly as Garfield spoke in somewhat intelligible Cantonese to the petite receptionist behind the desk. He was learning and remarkably fluent for just a beginner, but Garfield's forte was Mandarin as it was the more common of the two languages. The teen suddenly whispered a phrase Wolf didn't quite catch, unable to distinguish its meaning from basic knowledge, but whatever it was it did the trick. The receptionist's face paled, and she adjusted his posture in the seat. A clack of keys and a few muttered words into a telephone later and they were being whisked into an elevator by an overly exuberant concierge. He snatched their bags without question or request and happily beamed away as the lift doors closed on them.

The elevator rose and rose higher until, eventually, it neared the top. The doors slid open onto a quiet, lush corridor, ornately decorated and beautifully crafted. A soft glow from polished lampshades lit their path. Wolf felt out of place, uncomfortable to be around in a world that was not meant for him. He was a soldier, born for battle and war, not traipsing through a penthouse suite as though he were some kind of millionaire. Although, come to think of it, being a millionaire could certainly help out right about now. He could buy a new apartment for him and Pup, fund his ward's education and fix all his family's problems.

A polite cough brought him back to attention as the door to their room was held wide open. Garfield walked in without a glance back, exuding an air of purpose and wealth. He played his part well of an obnoxious rich brat, the stereotype serving him well with the added touch of adolescence. Wolf tried to do the same, striding past as though he were walking past a new recruit. It did the trick as the concierge shuffled his way out the door, bowing as he did so. But before he could leave, Garfield went over and thrust some yen into his hand, smiling courteously. The concierge bowed even lower, babbling many gracious thanks as he shut the door behind him.

Wolf was, however, flabbergasted,

"That was some of our last cash!" He hissed, "Don't just give it away!" Garfield whirled on him in irritation, again showing the menacing side that was coming to light,

"I wasn't just giving it away!" he snapped back with just as much ferocity, "He works for the hotel and word travels fast between employees. Soon, once they find out we tip well, we're going to be getting excellent service from not just him but the maids, the waiters, the chefs and the receptionists. Everyone is going to want to help us out to the best of their ability because money makes the world go round." Garfield rubbed his thumb with his index and middle finger imitating cash, "That way we're more likely to get answers and help where usually it wouldn't be allowed. Don't just think financially; think about what assets we might need."

The room itself was vast and incredibly proportionate save for the water colour depicting a tree in blossom on a sweeping hillside. The floor was a bare wood, polished to a gleam and the furniture was patterned with a floral motif. The main room was commanded by a huge panoramic window that stretched across the entirety of one wall, with a sliding door that led to a balcony overlooking the city. Off to the side were another room. A single king size bed stood visible just from the doorway, and Wolf was sure that there would inevitably be an en suite bathroom adjoining it. This was all too good to be true, and he wondered why on Earth they had been given this room without handing over a single yen. Garfield had told Wolf to have faith in him, but when the teen did impossible things on a daily basis, the soldier was quick to question.

But for now, Wolf fell away into an intimidated silence. For once in his life he was scared. Not because of the scenario he was in, he could deal with that and not of Garfield either. No, he was afraid _for_ Garfield. Whatever was happening was twisting the way he acted, the way he carried himself. Gone was the smart, casual teen that had a quip for everything and intelligence that rivalled some of the greatest minds, and was replaced with this almost manic, dark brooding animal that was stubborn and unpredictable. It was a stark difference from back in England only a few hours ago.

Garfield opened the sliding door that led to the balcony. Before stepping out, he examined the lock with the tips of his fingers, his hand staying on the handle for a few moments long than what was necessary. He was calculating the odds of breaking it, unlocking it with a key or pick. He assessed its strength, its complexity. This high up on a tall building it wouldn't be as good quality as the rest of the building; in fact Garfield could tell it had only been replaced once before, yet broken into several times. The scuff marks and the edges around the lock implied scraping movement and he visualised a thief fiddling around in the narrow opening. The lack of replacement was suggested by the locks age and how it didn't match the rest of the décor. The front door had an ornate lock of gold, yet this was cheap brass. And it looked withered, overused and diseased. He made a note not to keep any valuables or incriminating evidence lying around on show. Anything worth something would need to be placed in the safe that was blatantly hidden in the feature wall behind the water colour painting. The painting wasn't necessary, and in the country that invented 'feng shui', it most certainly should not be there. So its only purpose was to hide something, to cover something up. In a penthouse suite it wouldn't be a building disfigurement that could be rectified easily. No, it was something purposefully there, ergo a safe.

Garfield stepped out into the humid air. The heat was not quite unpleasant, neither was it welcome though. The sun was just about to set, signalling the end of another day wasted for Garfield. He hated this, not knowing what was going on. But now would not be the time to go about the city looking for a dead body. He was sure he may find many of them, but not the one he was looking for. It would take at least yet another day to find what he was looking for, and Garfield knew that it was unacceptable. He guessed his other peers had arrived already, probably waiting for him to show up at long last. But then again, they hadn't moved on most likely, whereas he had. Maybe that was a disadvantage, but Garfield still felt safer having Wolf there behind him. Whatever was going on he wouldn't be alone, regardless of whether he would have to protect Wolf as well as himself.

Sighing, Garfield went back inside, making sure to lock the door behind him. For now they had domestic issues to argue about, figuring they would have to make sleeping arrangements, give yet more explanations and devise some kind of plan. He really didn't want to involve Wolf in this, and before was thinking of how to keep him as excluded as possible. But up to the present moment he had shown nothing but persistence and inquisitiveness. It would be a difficult task keeping him occupied.

"So how are we going to sleep?" he asked, trying to act jovial. His tone was flat however, and jetlag was slowing him down. Wolf chuckled,

"Close your eyes and let yourself drift off," he smiled warmly, "You could count sheep if it helps?"

"Very funny," Garfield groaned, "But in all seriousness, how are we going to do sleeping arrangements? You take the bed and I'll take the sofa?"

"How about you take the bed and I'll stick to the sofa. Just like back home." Garfield nodded in agreement, not particularly up to fretting over petty details at the moment. If that's the way Wolf wanted it then that was the way it was going to be. Wolf was adamant and set in his ways; traditional and fatherly.

"How can we even afford this anyway?" he asked inevitably. Garfield breathed another sigh, the lag catching up with him,

"Don't ask… It's complicated."

"No," Wolf said, yet again inexorably, "Explain to me exactly how we can afford this suite." Garfield huffed. He was tired and irked, and wanted nothing more than to go to sleep,

"Because we're not paying for it. The Seer is. I've had the cost rerouted to her, or rather our, personal account. The one we used to use back in the day. If you want to make any withdrawals use this card," Garfield slipped his hand into one of his jacket pockets, taking out his wallet. He fished about through receipts and pieces of scrap paper until he found the tiny rectangle of plastic. It was nondescript, unidentifiable and blank. It was a clear white with the regular black strip and imprinted numbers, and yet somehow completely anonymous. "The pin is 1201." He tossed the card over to Wolf he caught it perfectly within both palms. He examined the card himself,

"Isn't that your birthday?" He asked absently, thinking out loud, "The twelfth of January?" Garfield suddenly stopped in his tracks, embarrassed that Wolf knew such trivial information about him. The reason the pin was his birthday was that it was easy to remember for him alone. The Seer had created several forwarding accounts for all the members of the team, giving them different cards with different pin numbers of their birth dates – the day and then the month. From that they could access the account at all times with or without a card.

"Yeah… I guess it is…" Garfield said hesitantly. Wolf gave him a raised eyebrow look that he had mastered over the years, but the teen just averted his gaze. The soldier shrugged, changing the subject,

"So why didn't you use this when we were out buying crap?"

"I didn't know if the account was still open," he explained, "I could only verify that it was still open when we were booking a room. Do you remember the receptionist making that call? That was to the bank, to check that there was in fact an account at all." Wolf nodded; satisfied with the explanation he was being given.

"Okay then… What do we do now? We've got our HQ, where do we go from here?"

"We do nothing. We can either hope for contact to be made between me and another member or something will come along to lead us to whatever we want," Garfield lied, trying to make it seem plausible. Wolf wasn't buying it,

"Seriously? I thought that this was vitally important and urgent, so much so that you had to race from England, drop everything that you were doing and go to Shanghai of all places for some dead man. Now we're just going to sit here and _wait_?" Garfield turned on him with vigour,

"What will you have me do?" He yelled pointing an accusing finger in his face, mere inches away from each other. He had closed the gap fast, "There is absolutely nothing I can do at all for now."

Wolf stared into Garfield's cold eyes. There was something there, hiding just behind the dark, and the hatred and the intelligence. He'd seen it before in other soldiers, on the frontline of battle. The kid was frightened, verging on petrified if Wolf had a say on it. Yet he couldn't understand why! It was so infuriating seeing Garfield tear himself apart from the inside like this yet keep so distant!

"What's going on Pup?" Wolf asked softly, reaching up to brush the strand of blue hair out of his ward's eyes, "What's _really_ going on?" Garfield fought valiantly, but his resolve couldn't last. He choked under Wolf's softness,

"It's just…" he tried, biting his lip, "It's just…" He was struggling to formulate even the simplest of sentences. Wolf sighed inwardly; his ward was a genius when it came to sniffing out the bad guys, but when it came down to personal matters of the heart or himself and he caved in,

"It's alright," he cooed as though he were talking to a toddler, having had experience with countless nephews and nieces. "Take your time. Just breathe."

"It's just…" Garfield spluttered, but it was the last straw. He crumbled, tears flowing freely. He didn't even understand why he was sad. Nothing had happened! He was just acting weak again!

_Damn! Stop being a petty baby for heaven's sake and pull yourself together Viking!_

"Shush now," Wolf said gently as he pulled Garfield into a hug, "It's alright. It's okay." He patted the teen's back, the tears wetting his shoulder. Strangely, it didn't feel awkward. Maybe Wolf was overlooking the fact he was standing in a penthouse hotel room in the middle of Hong Kong with a mastermind teen weeping into his shoulder for no particular reason, chasing after some dead guy and Omega whilst also being fugitives from several different organisations. Or maybe for once he felt connected with his son. Either way, pride and protection swelled within his chest making him feel ten times larger.

"It's just…" Garfield mumbled after a while, once the tears had abated and his voice calmed to only the slightest quiver, "It's just that I thought everything was going to be fine again. I kept thinking that because Omega weren't doing anything that maybe I had been wrong for a rare chance. I was so looking forward to meeting your family, your parents… my _grandparents_. I thought I could for once go to school and forget about everything bad that had happened in my life; my childhood, Mr E, everything! But no… Now I'm back to skulking about the place trying to get by and survive with about twenty different bastards after me." Garfield sobbed a little, his description only lowering the mood further, "¿Qué voy a hacer papá?"

"Firstly, you're going to calm down. Everything's going to be fine… eventually. I need you; I can't think like you, I can't connect the dots like you can. Secondly, we are going to get through this together, because back then you were on your own, but not now. I'm here, and I ain't going anywhere anytime soon. And last but not least you are going to go to bed and sleep, because you're getting worked up and stressed." Wolf listed his demands, a serious tone layering his voice. Garfield felt meaning behind every word. He snorted indignantly,

"I am _not_ a child!" He was about to turn away before adding for good measure, "And I am not getting 'worked up'! I am perfectly fine!"

"Says the kid who literally just burst into tears right in front of me? Yeah right…" Wolf scoffed, folding his arms, the muscles flexing and filling out the shirt he was wearing. Garfield admitted he did look quite intimidating. Perhaps he didn't need protecting…

"That was nothing," Garfield dismissed, waving away with his hand, "Just context."

"Context about what?" Garfield didn't reply. Wolf huffed, but he refused to say anymore as, strangely, the teen did as he was told and began collecting his stuff, getting ready for bed.

Wolf slouched on the sofa, skimming through channels whilst Garfield took a shower. He heard the water being switched on, steam billowing out into the main hall for a fraction of a second as he then heard his ward step under the hot jets. There was nothing much on; most programmes were in a garbled language he couldn't understand, and he couldn't navigate the remote or the TV's menus for English subtitles. Sometimes he got lucky and found a channel that did provide them, but they were usually boring and disinteresting. With the itch of monotony crawling into his brain, Wolf soon became desperate for something to do. He couldn't sleep yet, not when he had to make sure he could keep his eye on Pup. Once the teen was asleep he could then begin to doze off himself. He wondered how long he would be in the shower… Maybe he should take one himself? He'd spent nearly the entirety of the day in some kind of vehicle or negotiating the streets of Hong Kong, and he was certain he stank.

Boredom clawed at his mind again. The seconds ticked by mockingly slowly. It had barely been five – maybe ten – minutes! Wolf was never used to having another person to wait around for. Usually in the barracks when on tour soldiers would wash, get dry and be done whenever you clicked your fingers. They wouldn't dawdle or laze about. Wolf was used to the quick routine that was demanded of them all in the army. He wasn't used to the lifestyle of these next generation teenagers. They were casual, aloof and unpredictable. It was hard to even visualise himself as a teenager back when he was younger. In such a huge family things had to be done like clockwork or the whole system was down. Again, system replaced spontaneity. He supposed, for now, spontaneity and carefree would have to replace strict routine.

Wolf had settled down to watch some bizarre anime film that was currently playing in Japanese. He fortunately could understand some of the words being said, so it was prime relaxation material; neither grabbing his attention nor losing it. But, when that same niggling tediousness came knocking back at his mind, he searched for something to occupy himself with. A newspaper; a magazine? He wasn't sure he would understand the words, and so anything literature based would just become a picture book to him, defeating the purpose.

Just to Wolf's left was Garfield's phone. He must have left it on the side when he'd gone for a shower…

Wolf looked away sharply, shocked he would even consider snooping in his son's phone. Garfield deserved his privacy. Besides, he trusted the teen; why would he have anything to hide?

A simple look about his surroundings answered the rhetoric for him. He would have plenty to hide. But Garfield had the right to secrecy. Without that he would be useless to MI5. The phone called to Wolf, beckoning him, teasing him. He glanced at the door that led to the bathroom through the bedroom. How long did he have? Garfield was usually brisk at taking showers judging from experience at home. Perhaps Wolf had seconds, or minutes?

Hastily, he caved in a grabbed the phone, jumping up from his seat as he did so. He strode over to the window so he would be obscured from view if Garfield got out of the shower. The teen would at least have to get changed first, so Wolf supposed he had more time than he had previously thought. He tapped the screen, and it lit into life. A swirl of blue waves curled and swam about his fingertip from where he pressed. It spread out, pixel by tiny pixel until the whole screen was a beauteous mess of colour. The soldier wasn't used to such technology, but he had to admit that even that looked impressive for just a phone.

Slowly though, Wolf's victory turned bittersweet; the blue faded to black, and a new screen replaced the glorious azure that had previously stained the window. New text, cut and crude came into focus. Wolf read them aloud,

"I am safe?" They became clear, four transparent grey boxes appearing just underneath. They fazed into existence much like the 'I am safe' text before it, mimicking a ghastly phantom. Then, to add to the effect, a padlock then dazzled into view, just behind the text. Below it all, in a shimmering glaze, almost like a reflection; a secondary padlock was mirrored in a water-like effect. Strangely, the half ring of the padlock from which it would attach itself was highlighted, glowing almost much like the text. Wolf was being asked for a pin number or password.

Wolf racked his brains for some common or key word or number that was meaningful to Garfield. The teen was so elusive and mysterious, never being definite here or there that it was impossible to guess at random. He typed in 'Blue', imagining it to be the most likely choice. Wolf wasn't expecting it to work, and was not surprised when the padlock flashed an angry red, informing him that he had three attempts remaining.

"Don't try and hack my phone," a grave voice said behind Wolf. The soldier shot around, fumbling with the phone behind his back. In his clumsy effort to conceal it, the phone dropped to the floor with a soft thud. Garfield was standing there with a dark look upon his face. He looked pissed, and incredibly so. He stared at Wolf for a few seconds before slowly stooping down to pick up the phone. "What were you doing snooping where you don't belong?" Garfield was examining his phone, turning it this way and that to make sure Wolf hadn't further damaged it. He thought fast,

"I was going to call my family back home, make sure everything's okay," he lied quickly, "I can't use my phone because they could track the SIM. You mentioned that they couldn't track yours so I thought you wouldn't mind." He scratched the back of his neck in vain, hoping he would pass by with that simple excuse. Garfield continued to look at the phone, typing in the password without Wolf seeing,

"Why didn't you use the hotel's landline?"

"It might be tapped; I don't want to chance the risk."

"Good… You're beginning to get into the swing of things!" Garfield smiled, but it seemed false… almost forced, "By the way, you're showing all the signs of guilt."

"I am?" Wolf asked disbelievingly, his voice raising just a bit in pitch. Garfield didn't miss a beat,

"Yup," he agreed casually, before adding in sarcastic wit, "If I didn't know any better, I would say that you were talking utter bullshit." Wolf swallowed a ball of spit that welled up in his throat. Why did the teen get under his skin so much? "Here," Garfield broke through Wolf's thoughts. He passed Wolf the phone. It was on some kind of dialling screen. He obviously expected Wolf to call someone. Wolf wanted to, but not right now. He needed to get a cover story straight before he attempted to contact home. He dismissed the offer of the phone,

"No thanks," he said, "I'll call them tomorrow. It'll probably be too late now."

"They're just waking up back in England…" Garfield supplied suspiciously. He saw through Wolf's lie easily. "I'm going to bed," he said slowly, still looking at the man with an odd expression.

"Night…" Wolf called back, just as Garfield disappeared into the bedroom. He breathed a sigh of relief. Something was hidden on that phone and he needed to know what.

TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI

Wolf jolted awake suddenly as a loud crash burst out from the television. Swearing under his breath at the inanimate object, he settled himself back down, making sure to crank the volume down. Now only a meagre whisper, he allowed the soft chorus of confused words wash over him, lulling him back to sleep.

But he couldn't sleep. Adrenaline had coursed through his system now, and he was ready for a fight. With no enemies about, it just made Wolf have itchy feet. He sighed, pulling away the covers he had managed to find spare in a closet. He noticed that Garfield's light was still on through the crack of the door, and decided to investigate. He checked his watch that he'd left on the side of the sofa's arm when he'd taken it off. It was at least one o'clock the next day, what on Earth was Garfield still doing awake at this time?

He trudged his way over to the door, pushing it open gently, his eyes falling upon Garfield sitting up in bed with his phone in his hands, tapping away at the screen unaware of Wolf's presence. The soldier coughed politely, but Garfield didn't even glance up from what he was doing. Wolf was about to do the same thing again only louder, but Garfield got there first. Without looking up, he said,

"Yes?" Wolf looked at him curiously. Did he even know what time it was?

"Why aren't you asleep?" He asked in a calm tone, seething inside. Now it was Garfield's turn to look curious and bemused,

"… What time is it?"

"Gone past one in the morning," Wolf growled. He clenched his fists. Whenever he told his unit or other men to go to sleep, they did it straight away on his command, not question him. But Garfield, much to Wolf's disdain, just waved him off after thinking for a moment,

"Then it's fine, I got a few more hours."

"A few more hours?" Wolf shouted, "What do you mean 'I got a few more hours'?"

"I mean," Garfield said plainly, "That I have a few more hours before I go to sleep."

"And what time is that?" Wolf snarled, unhappy about the terms he had just discovered about Garfield's sleeping patterns.

"Around four… maybe earlier?" Garfield said, finally stopping with typing at the phone. He looked at Wolf with puzzlement, "Why? Does it matter?"

Wolf was dumbfounded,

"Does Snake know about this?" He demanded, "About your sleep deprivation or insomnia?"

"What Snake doesn't know won't kill him," Garfield shrugged, returning to tapping at his phone as though the matter were closed. But Wolf wasn't finished. He dealt his killer blow,

"But it'll kill you."

Garfield immediately stopped typing again. His gaze shot up to meet Wolf's but he averted his eyes once he saw the ferocity behind them. It was strange; his voice had been so calm yet he had forgotten about the eyes. The eyes would give a man's true feelings away, and right now Wolf was both infuriated and concerned. Perhaps he shouldn't have acted so brusque, but the man had tried to get into his phone!

"Garfield, I'm not imposing bedtimes just so you can disobey them and stay up later than I thought. I'm not doing it out of spite or malice, but to keep you healthy and safe. If you're half asleep the next time he come to blows with Omega then who knows what could happen!" Wolf sat down at the foot of Garfield's bed, "I don't want to lose you. Not to them." Garfield sighed, turning away from looking at Wolf. He was displeased, but Wolf was thankful he didn't talk back. Wolf got up to leave, but stopped just back in the doorway, "And Pup?"

"What?" Garfield snapped irritably, halfway between reaching for the light. He glowered at Wolf with disobedient eyes.

"That guy in the taxi… John Smith or something…"

"John Doe."

"John Doe, right; what he said, about you… you know… you and me…" Wolf couldn't say it, not the literal word for word. It unnerved him – it _sickened_ him.

"Yes…" Garfield answered warily, "I follow. What about it?"

"Well, was he telling the truth?" Wolf had to ask. The question was burning in his mind. It was now or never. Garfield didn't respond, moving back to switch off the light. Wolf buckled, the anger flaring, "WELL? Which is it; yes or no?" Garfield paused again, the mask of iron replaced. Suddenly, the air in the room got much heavier, the tension so thick it could have been cut with a knife. Both of them were showing their true colours. Wolf, the ferocious warrior, and Garfield, the sinister think-tank; both capable of things even the other did not know about. It was Garfield, who broke the gruesome silence first,

"I've done things I'm not proud of Wolf…" He answered vaguely, "Good night."

"No!" Wolf yelled, "No, we are not done here! Are you telling me you…?" Again, the words failed to come to him. He spluttered silently hoping they might jump into his mouth. Garfield just sighed, shaking his head,

"You figure it out Dumbo, I'm going to sleep. Good _**night**_!" And that was that. Garfield turned out the light, ending any further conversation. His word had been final, and Wolf turned away smarting from being humiliated by a child. Back they were to criminal and soldier, not father and son. Regret filled his heart, but his brain chided himself for having thought that any hopes or dreams were a futile effort. In their line of work, hopes and dreams was that they died of old age and not a bullet in the back of the head.

He snorted. He certainly dodged a bullet trying to help Garfield's self-righteous arse. A small part of him wanted to turn back around and apologise, but he ignored it. However, it was that small part that stopped him from picking up the phone and dialling MI6 right then and there. _Tomorrow_, he swore to himself, _tomorrow I will call them and hand him over._

And tomorrow it would be.

TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI

Garfield had woken up first. Wolf was lazing on the sofa, still half-asleep as light streamed in through the panoramic window. Garfield was dressed in fresh clothes whilst it appeared his 'guardian' had dozed off in those he had been wearing since the journey. Since his family's get-together even. He must've not had chance to get changed yet. It_ had _been all a hectic rush.

The sipped at his coffee, the bitter taste reflecting his own mood; he was fuming still over last night. Wolf had tested him, pushed him to his limit. He had told the man he would open up when he felt ready or strong enough, but here it was all unravelling. He could sense Wolf wanting to betray him now, hand him over to the authorities. But that would never happen, not in this city. Everyone was out for themselves. The Snakehead had most of China in a grip of terror, and ever since Scorpia had fallen, that terror only increased tenfold.

Although, Garfield couldn't blame Wolf if he did turn him over, but he would never forgive him for it. The man was risking his career just by being with him, just by being here. The teen was on the run now, forced to do so by his own stupid past. Maybe the Orphan had never died. Maybe it was time to cut the hair and stop being 'Blue', blackmail Britain to let him go and stop being 'Pup', and sever his ties with Alex bloody Rider and stop being 'Garfield'.

But could he do so with Omega prowling about? They were after him. Garfield thought longer on the problem. Perhaps, if they needed him so badly, they would cut him a slice of the deal? They wanted power and control, and he wanted out. Surely they could come to an arrangement. In which case, he would need to contact them first, and the only way to do that is to find them by following the inevitable trail they would have left at the Pilot's body.

Behind him, Wolf stirred, not rousing completely awake but mumbling some incoherent demand about coffee. Garfield looked over at the coffee machine with a fresh potful of coffee, and then thought about getting him a mug. He shook his head, scrambling his own thoughts. He get his own damn coffee if he was going to be the responsible one.

Suddenly, as Garfield was looking out at the rising sun across the cityscape, the glass frosted over. Splinters and cracks ran ragged paths across the glass surface, his reflection abruptly torn into a sea of white and grey that marred his form. Acting on instinct, he charged for the door, dropping his mug as he leaped over the sofa – over Wolf – safely. The soldier bolted out of his doze, now completely awake. He searched around for the answers of Garfield's distress.

"MOVE YOU IDIOT!" The teen shouted at him, sprinting to the door. He had been stupid! Reckless! Idiotic! He should have known!

"What's going on?" Wolf asked as another shot torn through the sofa's upholstery moments ago from where he was sitting. He was stumbling for his clothes and gear, but Garfield yanked him out through the open doorway.

"We're getting shot at by snipers. Any more questions?"

"WHY?" Wolf bellowed back.

"Because John Doe was killed randomly after speaking to us; odd, wouldn't you say? This is the Snakehead's answer. They're pissed at us because they think we killed John Doe, their _only_ British representative!"

"Wait!" Wolf blurted out, patting down his pockets in the hall, grabbing at his wrist. Garfield figured it out before Wolf had even said it that he had forgotten his watch.

"Leave it, buy a new one. Let's go!" Garfield fled into the lift, expecting Wolf to follow. But he didn't. Instead, he turned back around and dashed back inside the hotel room. Garfield rolled his eyes, and in a rebellious act of mutiny, he stabbed the button to go to the roof. The doors closed on Wolf's form entering back inside the room where snipers were waiting for him.

Wolf had to get that watch back; it had been a gift from his grandfather. A family heirloom, ancient and functional; he couldn't just leave it behind in some hotel where a maid could swipe it and then pawn it for cheap money.

Another shot ripped apart the wall fixture behind Wolf's head, missing him by inches. He dived for the sofa, rooting down the sides of the cushions for the watch. His hands came across the cold metal, and he tugged the watch out. Happy with his find, Wolf made once more for the door, another bullet missing him as he ran out. He caught sight of the lift having already left, and made the assumption it was going downwards. Heaving deep breaths, he panted as he waited for the second lift to arrive. He glanced down the corridor to his left, seeing t a maid staring at him with petrified eyes. He didn't say anything, and without a word more went into the lift once it arrived, slamming the button for the ground floor. So this was it; Tristan Alvarez finally running away from a fight. Things change.

_Meanwhile_

Garfield fell out onto the rooftop. The wind whipped at his clothes, his skin iced by the chilly air. He loved the East. They had far more accommodating roofs and parkour-paths for free runners to have at than in the West, whose steeped roofs and concept of free space between buildings meant that it was near impossible to just run.

He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the cold air before he started to run, picking up his momentum as he went. The edge of the building came into focus, and he ran up and then leapt high into the air, just as a bullet cracked at the concrete where his feet would have been. He soared high up in the air, his body gliding in a fixed moment of time before he began to fall. The roof of the adjacent building rushed up to greet him, and he tucked and rolled as he came down to impact. He hit the ground with his shoulder, only a minor jab of discomfort before he was on his feet again, running. He vaulted and jumped and leapt across open roof, over pipes and across ledges. He had missed this more than most, the feel of just _running_, of just being free to mould your own path, free to take the city in your hand and make it your own plaything. Without Wolf slowing him down, finding the Pilot would be a breeze. Garfield vaulted and dove straight into the air, a giant fall below him. He grinned, weightless kicking in and adrenaline coursing through his body. It felt _good_…

Finding Omega would be easy, and then he would be free. Free from everything.

TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI

A sharp wind wailed through the abandoned build site. High above ground, far away from the prying eyes of the public and a million miles from society, a dead body lay motionless in the middle of a grand circle, an ornate hall crafted atop the world in the heavens, the conference room of gods. Tarpaulins and forgotten tools and equipment lay scattered about, they too having been discarded by their wielders.

As the wind blew, dust and dirt would be picked up and trickled about. Many footprints were pressed into the floor's filth where men had once walked about, were all now distorted and shaped to look like those of monsters, twisted and ugly. Metal crafts and constructions continued higher up to the pinnacle of the building, reflecting the shimmering lights below, and casted even further down into the ocean's waters far down. The skyscraper was set just near the water's shore, verging upon an impossible precipice. It dominated the skyline, towering further above anything even dreamed possible, dwarfing all that stood to oppose it. The air was thin, like mere whisper caught in the sky. It was a fitting location for where some of the deadliest and most powerful criminals to meet, dancing over all those they undermined and humbled.

The rickety doors of the building lift opened, exposing Garfield to the harsh elements. He let the doors stay open for a moment or two before stepping out. In his direct line of sight, the instant he got off the lift, was the dead body. A large circle of light beamed down upon him from an overhanging chandelier that had been broken and buffeted by the winds, put up far too early, before construction had been finished. Garfield made not of everything; the abandoned work on the most important building in the area, the body being the first thing to be seen from the lift, the body being put in a makeshift spotlight. The entire crime scene seemed off. Something else was at work here.

Garfield paced slowly forwards, heading straight towards the body. He entered the empty circle of the half-built hall, moving into the ring of pillars that lined the outside. They were Greek in design, but he didn't check if anyone would be hiding behind them. The teen would have to trust his former comrades not to pull any surprises.

He moved nearer towards the body. Having seen the Pilot in a photo, seeing him in real life was even worse. He looked revolting, his skin pale and cold. His eyes were empty and glazed over, his skin more wrinkled and stretched than Garfield remembered. His tattoos were elongated, shrunk and tired-looking, age having had its way with them. Then there was the odd, cumbersome smell. It didn't belong here, but neither was it so repulsive. Garfield tried to run through the scents of what it could be, but whatever it was, it only emanated from the body. It was a pitiful sight to say the least. Garfield crouched down, searching the body down, checking orifices that wouldn't have been shown in the picture. HE checked the ears, the nose and mouth. It was in the mouth that he found something interesting. A piece of card had been wedged inside, folded tightly. Garfield plucked it out, dry as a bone for the moisture inside had long since dried up. That suggested the Pilot had been killed quite a while ago – perhaps even before he had been found. Garfield sighed, unfolding the piece of card. On it, written in tiny writing, were printed numbers. He wouldn't be able to tell who wrote this, nor could he know whose number this was until he called it. He placed the card into the back pocket of his jeans and went back to the body. He hovered over the puckered Omega mark, his mind reeling with thoughts and possibilities, a finger tracing the air just above the hideous wound on the chest, not touching but neither moving away.

"Sickening, isn't it?" Garfield lurched round at the sudden voice, an Asian woman stood on a platform just to his right. She took her time coming down the steps, Garfield already working away at who or what she was.

_Creased suit – Currently under pressure or anguish. Businesswoman.  
>Low heels on shoes – Works in an office, expensive design so high ranking profession.<br>Earrings are second-hand – The scuff marks on the edge and faded colour of the mother-of-pearl. Sentimental value. If she can afford the shoes she can afford jewellery. Has family close to heart otherwise she wouldn't be wearing them for a meeting such as this.  
>Empty ring finger on left hand – Never married. Has no personal commitments, so earrings didn't come from close family. Determined to prove her worth. China's one child per family law means that she has had to be strong and harsh in order to show that she is as good as any man in a demanding profession; incredibly vicious. Has never married in order to keep her focus.<br>Based upon logic of worth: in order to remain focused does not drink, smoke, have sex or take holidays. She is obsessed and consumed by her work.  
>However, is her suit is creased, and she is under pressure or anguish, then therefore her focus would be failing. Only viable cause is the dead body. <em>

_What is the connection?_

_What am I missing?_

Garfield stood back up, dusting down his jeans,

"I've seen worse," he joked, taking careful note of the Seer's reaction, "How are you, by the way?"

"Cut the pleasantries," the Seer snipped curtly, "The others will arrive shortly." Garfield was beginning to draw the picture, weaving the colours and fabrics together of information until he would have the full scene. If there was something he was missing, he would figure it out. He just needed the input.

"Am I striking a nerve, Seer?" Garfield chirped cheekily. He grinned happily as the Seer glared at him. She had a narrow face, with dark eyes that were as cold as ice. Her hair was close cropped, tied in a bun with two long pins. She was an elegant woman, having done herself obviously proud in the business of finance. Now that she was closer, Garfield could see the tell-tale signs of the accountancy in her; with her hair out of her eyes, the glasses folded in his breast pocket all concluded to her working in economics or finances – which made sense, considering she was the one who would have once organised them as a group. An account does need a monumental level of memory and imitative in order to succeed.

Silently, she turned away and trotted over to the edge of the building, where the floor gave way to an impossible drop down. Crisscrossing girders and cables were laid bare where the floor stopped, and the wall was incomplete. Next to some of the pillars, parachutes were propped up against the stonework. Garfield wondered why they were there. They look like they had been left by base jumpers seeking thrills. Back in the city below, life was falling just into eve, the sun near setting again. A whole day had passed whilst Garfield had been searching; a whole day since he had last seen Wolf. He wondered if the fool was still alive.

A stabbing pain of guilt shook through Garfield, but he grinned and bore it. He couldn't believe it. He was actually feeling sorry. He was regretting having abandoned Wolf, having left him to the mercy of the triads.

"The company I'm contracted by is currently building this place." She gestured to the room around them, and then down below, "I forged bank statements and documents so that building work would be called off so that the scene would be preserved. Thank you for coming so quickly."

"No, thank you for stirring up trouble," Garfield replied sarcastically. "Seriously, why am I here? What do you want?"

"I want you to help me get revenge."

"Revenge is a waste of time," drawled a seductive voice behind them, "I could be doing far _better_ things than going about catching killers."

"I concur," said a second voice, a thick southern accent. The Seer and Garfield turned to face the newcomers.

Firstly, Garfield looked at the woman, who was dressed in a full length gown, cut in several revealing places, a dark mauve colour. Her face was heavily made up with shades and tints, giving the haunting impression of a beautiful skull. Her hair was flat, curled just at the tip and hung down over one shoulder that was exposed by the dress. She was clad with a fascinating bulky necklace, glimmering in the light. She had stilettos on, the tiny heels clacking against the marble floor as she strutted along. Her lips were a voluptuous red, enticing and garish. But Garfield knew her tricks, the methods she worked and lies she implored. She was the devil dressed as an angel. This woman was the Mistress.

He then turned to the man. He had a Stetson on his head, tipped just slightly backwards. He was dressed in a tweed brown suit, a black tie with a horseshoe clip across it. The man himself was huge, a great bumbling beast with bulging muscles that strained at the suit. His hands were gigantic, making the pack of cards he was holding look like butterflies as he shuffled them about with great ease and delicacy. His belt buckle was that of a bull's head, glinting silver in the diminishing light. His eyes darted about the shadows under the brim of his hat, licking his lips subconsciously all the time in his fret. The corners of his mouth twitched, words being thought but never said. He was Texan, a gambling man. One might have supposed he worked hard for what he wanted, but it was quite the contrary. He cheated out everyone he met, took what they had and made his living that way. The only reason he was so buff was because of all the free time he had. This man was compulsive, paranoid, and a risk taker. That was why they called him the Gambler.

"Ah, Gambler, Mistress, I'm glad you could make it." The Seer turned to Garfield, "And Orphan, I truly am thankful that you _all_ could make it alive. I was beginning to think that you might never have come."

"Cut the bullshit Seer," The Mistress sliced, swaying her hip to one side and placing a fine hand upon it, resting her weight there on one leg, "Answer Orphan's question. Why are we here?"

"As I said, and as you heard, I want revenge."

"Why?" The Gambler chortled, "I didn't think you were so aggressive over dead comrades!"

"It's because she's emotionally involved," Garfield said absently, looking across the drop. The Seer spluttered,

"I am not!"

"Oh yes you are," The Mistress retorted, "It was obvious even when we were a team!" Garfield took over,

"Why else would you have dragged us all back across the world just for some dead peer? There's no point in telling us now to watch our backs; you just risked everything bringing us here. You could have told us that we were in danger by letter, but no. You send an image of the Pilot and then request we all attend this little gathering without so much as any further explanation. Another question would be why he was here. Why would the Pilot suddenly be in China despite being patriotic and living in Finland? Perhaps he was on an assignment here, or perhaps he wasn't. But even if he had been, you would never have gone out your way to ask us to come and gawk at his dead body. Plus, you've kept the scene intact. You _want_ to know who the killer is, not just to lash out at someone unexpectedly. Also, you have been recently worried by recent events, suggesting that you have gotten emotionally involved; ergo you and the Pilot were courting. You were in love with him."

_And there was the connection…_

The Seer stared at Garfield for a moment or two before sighing, tears cresting at the tips of her eyes,

"Yes… Yes you're right. You're always bloody right." She dabbed at the tears with a handkerchief, "So will you help me? Will you find his killer?" Garfield laughed loudly, the sound resonating into the air,

"If the killer is who I think they are, you will have no chance getting revenge."

"Who is the killer then?" The Seer asked with watery eyes, suddenly enthused with promise of someone to blame. Garfield was about to answer, but the Mistress got there before him,

"Omega; Omega killed the Pilot." Suddenly, the Gambler became hysterical,

"Oh no!" he yelled, "No, no, no, they better not be! I mean, if they are than I am out of here. I only came because I thought I might be able to gather some intelligence about them. If they've done this then I'm gone! This isn't their usual style!"

"Wait, you both know about Omega?" Garfield asked, confused now, "How come?"

"I overheard it from some lovely gentlemen down at a bar. Drunk, mind, but ever so… _helpful_. Told me all about them and how they're going to bring the world to order. It was about a few months back I think," The Mistress explained. Garfield wasn't surprised. It was her trick to get men – even women – drunk or naked and then have them tell her their secrets. People were always the most vulnerable when they were not in control of themselves, and therefore always more manipulative. And if the Mistress was anything, then she was manipulative.

"I've been keeping an eye on them for a while now. That malarkey in Britain was a disaster!" The Gambler blurted, his hands shaking as he rattled the cards about. That was to be expected too; the Gambler was a paranoid delusional man who trusted no one. He was always watching his back, always fearful of everyone else. Garfield could never explain his paranoia, and so had left it be after a while of trying to analyse it.

"So did Omega really kill the Pilot?" The Seer asked, getting back on track. The tears were gone, replaced with a frosty exterior. Garfield hummed,

"I don't know... not exactly I don't think at least… Maybe someone else…" He walked back to the body, "I mean, look at the wound. There are no excess blood stains on the body, so the wound would have had to have been made _after_ the point of death, which appears to be poison judging by the slight dried foam at the corner of his mouth." Garfield pointed to the elevator, "That there is the only point of entry, and the footprints and dirt on the floor suggests the body was dragged into the circle, so someone must have brought him up to this point for some reason… Almost as though they were controlling the environment in which we found him in. Then we have the total disregard for his dignity, "Garfield pointed back to the body, "He was left naked in some random place, a wound made with what would appear to be a serrated knife. So whoever killed the Pilot doesn't care for him, or for his honour or dignity. Therefore, we're looking for someone with physical strength, lack of morals, professionally trained assassin and with the foreknowledge of him coming to China." Garfield hesitated, "But it's odd though… It's not like Omega at all. Like the Gambler said, this isn't their style. They just burn those they don't need. They wouldn't go to this length just for a dead body. But it's odd… The Seer was already here, so therefore there was no need for an incentive to travel, yet for everyone else there is. The Gambler wants information, the Mistress wants to evaluate their power and I want potential leads on Omega… We all had reasons to come… all for Omega… And then the smell… The smell of embalming fluids… The Pilot has been preserved, as though the killer knew they may have to wait for us to arrive on the scene…" Suddenly, Garfield slapped his forehead, "Oh God! I've been so stupid!" He hit his forehead repeatedly with his palm, "So god-damn fucking stupid!"

"What?" The Seer exclaimed, "What is it? What's going on?"

"It's a trap!" Garfield yelled, pacing in a wide circle around the body, furious with himself and venting it out on the others, "It's all a fucking trap! Don't you see? He's been purposely marked with the Omega symbol to act as a great big advertisement! He's bait! We've all fallen for the trap! Somebody has designed this perfectly so that we'd all come and have led us into the perfect trap!"

Suddenly, smoke exploded into the hall. Voices and cacophonous shouts filled the half, the gas seeping into every corner, nook and cranny. The four of them coughed and hacked as the greyish blue smoke tinted their vision. The Gambler made a bolt for it, heading out into the smog before anything could be done. Garfield caught sight of the Mistress being suddenly pulled down to the floor by arms that emerged through the gas. The Seer looked wildly at Garfield, but he shrugged between coughs, holding his breath as best he could. His lungs burnt and his eyes watered, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to stop himself from making too much noise. Sensing the lack of help, the Seer ran off into the smoke, stumbling into two officers. It was the police! But then there were two civilians, dressed normally unlike the officers. It made sense; the triads and the police were essentially the same force. Both were corrupt, and both were after Garfield. He doubted he would survive if they were to get their hands on him.

Time slowed as three more armed officers bounded out through the smoke. They saw Garfield, and in the split second he ran, heading away from them towards the giant craggy opening in the building's side. He snatched up the base jumping gear as he went, and then made a leap of faith out through the hole. Then he began falling.

The wind rushed through his hair as he fell, and Garfield wasted no time in struggling with the gear, putting on what he needed most. He hoped the parachute would work, and clumsily fumbled with the clips and straps. All the while this was happening; he free fell downwards, accelerating with speed. It was dangerous; he had no parachute on at that moment, no control over his direction or descent, and had no clear way to land. Panic gripped his body, his fingers becoming numb in the frigid streams of blasted air as he fell. Down and down and faster and faster. The other buildings were coming into focus now, some having pierced pas him and into the sky now above.

Finally! The parachute was on. Garfield judged his height and gauged when the pull the cord. He yanked at once he was certain it was the right time, and he was dragged to a sharper, yet slower descent. Now he could control where he was going.

Just then though, a helicopter screeched its way around him, appearing from behind the building. They were lying in wait for him! He tugged at the cords, angling himself away just as a machine gun spun up, choking bullets into the air. Garfield careened into a building; he ran along the surface and kicked off, his body at a forty five degree angle. He was literally running along the sides of the building as he ran. His shoes squeaked against the glass, failing to get actual grip and more or less just keeping him from crashing into the building. Momentum pulled him away, and he crossed to the other side, doing the same with another building. He ran along its walls too, and then fell upon the end of the building. His feet kicked out into empty air, so he tucked them in, just as the machine gun started up again, the helicopter making pursuit after him.

He was nearly near the ground now, and had to look out for trees or lampposts as he descended. How high off the ground was he now? As fate would have it, a truck was pulling up, so Garfield tore at the clips holding his body suspended in air. He suddenly dropped, just as the helicopter screamed in for another kill. The blades scored through the parachute, obliterating it into tatters in the fraction of a second. Garfield tucked and rolled on the roof of the truck, running along it as it drove in the opposite direction. He leapt of the back and onto the road, the protests of other road-users honking their horns and shouting obscenities at him. He ignored them all, and set off in any random direction he thought best. He had to get cover from the helicopter, then he would have to flee from any foot pursuers. Any that could mean anyone!

Garfield charged along the street, climbing up and over cars, slaloming through bikes and parked vehicles as he ran. His best bet was to head to the worse off area of the city. People hated the police and triads there, and were also fearful of them. They would emphasise with him, perhaps offer him sanctuary for a short while whilst the heat died down.

Suddenly, a car screeched up in front of him, forcing to him to come to an abrupt halt.

Wolf rammed open the door,

"Get in!" He yelled, revving the engine as curious pedestrians and onlookers took a gaze at them. Garfield wasted no time in pulling himself inside the cheap tacky car. He noticed how Wolf had strangely acquired the keys, but it was obvious he was taking the fugitive deal to a whole new level. No holes were barred, it would seem. He slammed the gear stick and sped off through the city streets, "I am _so_ pissed off with you…" he growled, not taking his eyes of the road ahead, swerving to avoid other vehicles, "Yet proud. What you did just then… it was spectacular. But it doesn't justify getting the whole city worked up into a crazed fever!"

"Well sorry for commotion," Garfield huffed, grabbing onto the side of the car as they took a sharp turn right. Wolf sighed,

"Look, just tell me where we need to go," the car drove in silence for a few seconds, the only sound being the cough of the engine as it mewled to keep the horsepower coming. It was a few moments before Garfield growled himself,

"Just take the next left…"

TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI

The laundrette was chaotic, humid and bustling with activity. Huge piles of stained, dirty and unwashed clothes lay scattered about, women milling around. In Garfield's opinion, this would have been the misogynist's heaven, but for him it was disgusting. All the people here were either too young to be working, or not being given the chance to flourish. It was shameful that he was even relying upon such a place as cover whilst the city ran a fine comb through the streets for them. But Garfield was good at what he did, and he knew how each country worked. Nobody would think to bother checking all these small businesses, searching for just one teenager.

Wolf was following an elderly lady dutifully through the hulking presses and vats of hot soapy water. She was babbling to him about how they could stay here for as long as they liked, and how nice it was to have _polite_ company instead of the evil bosses who worked them like dogs.

"You stay here long?" She asked with poor English. Wolf shook his head,

"No, not long. But thank you anyway." She smiled plaintively,

"Okay okay. You make selves comfortable. We help one another round here. Very helpful, yes?"

"Yes very helpful," Wolf leant down to Garfield, "Please tell me we won't stay long."

"Why?" Garfield asked blankly, "Are we being racist Wolf?"

"No…" he said, "It's just she's very… overbearing. I don't like being constantly talked to."

"Well you'll just have to make do. I'll be back in a minute, I need to go and make a call outside." Garfield left Wolf to the mercy of the old woman, heading back outside via the roof top. Much to Wolf's surprise, the teen nimbly climbed up through the rafters, and headed out through a ventilation shaft that was loosely fitted.

Garfield headed out into the open air. From his vantage point on the roof, he could see right across the bay, towards the city. Their car had been abandoned further down away from their present location, unfortunately torched to a cinder to stop anyone from tracking them.

Garfield took out the piece of card from his back pocket. He took out his own phone, tapping in the four character code and unlocking it. He smirked to himself, realising the mind game he was playing with Wolf. He knew the password, yet was completely oblivious to that fact.

He dialled the number and let it ring, until a crisp, nasal voice picked up,

"Chief Superintendent Guozhi Ko of the HKAPF speaking," the man said on the other end, "Who is calling?" Garfield remained silent, his breathing regular and quiet. This proved the triads were behind the police. Garfield had known Ko from years ago, back when he was just an officer himself. Back then he had been corrupt, bribed and manipulated by the triads, and Garfield had the sneaking suspicion it was the same even now.

"Who is this?" Ko demanded, "Who's calling? I'll this traced you know!"

"No need," Garfield said finally, "You just told me everything I needed to know. See you soon, Constable Ko."

Garfield hung up before the most powerful man could protest. Now he was in real deep shit, and with very little hope of getting out.

_Meanwhile_

Wolf settled down in a small alcove the woman had led him to. He had expected her to leave, get on with some other task that had been forced upon her, but she stayed for a few moments, gazing solemnly up at the roof.

"You know who he is?" she asked, pointing upwards, signifying she was referring to Garfield. Wolf shrugged, not understand the question,

"Yeah, why? Who is he?"

"He is alone. The Orphan. Everyone in city knows who he is. He helps people like us and me." She turned to him, "But he in danger. We all are. You must leave. You are his partner, yes?"

"No…" Wolf said slowly, "I am his father… at least, I thought I was. I might not be anymore."

"No!" the woman hissed, nearly yelling, "You are his father. He need father. You must be his father." She looked back up at the roof, checking when there was a clang of metal and footsteps, "You must leave city. Take your son and leave."

"Why?" Wolf asked, now properly worried, realising the woman's words and their meaning, "What's wrong?"

"A storm is coming once more;" she said cryptically, "The scorpion and the snake once fought the end. But now no more. Without the scorpion the snake will die because of the end. Everything will die in the end."

There was a sudden commotion from around the corner, and the old lady's face drained of colour.

"I must go." And with that, she sped off into the laundrette, lost in the sea of clothes and workers. Wolf wanted to ask more, but he never got the chance. He sighed, sitting back down on top of some crates to await Garfield's return. This was bad; very bad indeed.

**And there we have it. **

**So, if you have any questions you absolutely must have answering, please feel free to send me a PM or a question in a review which I will answer next time.  
>However! My question for you is:<strong>

**What do you think the password is to Blue's phone?**

**Have fun guessing!**

**For now, I'll just subtly hint for any reader who hasn't already read The Rider Prelude to GO AND READ IT NOW! You may be pleasantly surprised. I may get round to writing another prologue for either Blue or Ben, but I will need more suggestions to make it a series of preludes for characters. Again, if you wish to read any, send me a message or comment in a review.**

**Anyway, lots of things to be thinking about in this chapter. I'll let you mull it over for next time! Apologies for the appalling length; I had so much to say all at once D:**

**Thanks – K9**


	4. Recovery

**Hello there, new update.**

**Just so you know, I am trying to keep on top of these, but with work and school and such it just piles on. So do bear with. **

**On a side note, if anything does ever offend you in my stories, please let me know so I can tune it down, or take it out completely. It's just I try and keep my stories as real as possible, and sometimes that means the portrayal of characters, their development or the things they do are sometimes… how shall I put it? Controversial? Anyway, the point stands; if you don't agree with something just send me a PM or write it in a review and I'll address it right away!**

**In response to reviews:**

**2whitie: It doesn't sound good indeed. Thanks for reviewing!**

**Jellie Smiff: Thanks! And thanks for reviewing!**

**Aestiva: Good question. You'll just have to read and see! Thanks for reviewing!**

**Dani9513: Sorry, but the password is only four characters long, so it can't be 'PUP' or 'ORPHAN'. We'll have a try with 'WOLF' however, and see how that works out! And yes, a strange foreshadowing there. Thanks for reviewing!**

**Mr E: Again, a good question. And once more; you'll just have to read and see! Thanks for reviewing!**

**Getsumen Kage no Mai: Thanks, but no, I haven't gone on any courses of the like to do with psychology I'm afraid. Surely it can't be that good though. I'm just trying my best, tis all. Read the chapter to check the attempt of 'WOLF' as the password, but I'll give you an extra hint. It is something to do with Wolf as Garfield has so kindly riddled, but does not relate to Alex. Thanks for reviewing!**

**Owltalon: I do love it also when there are long chapters, but sometimes it can be off-putting naturally. That's why I worry on the occasion. I do try and keep the story seeming as real as possible, so tension between Wolf and Blue is going to be inevitable of course :D, and Wolf is always to the rescue XD. Thanks for reviewing!**

**Previously in the Viking Insurgence:**

**We caught up with Wolf and Garfield just as they had found their footing in China. All seemed fine from an on looking perspective, but behind closed doors tension was brewing between Wolf and Garfield. After a conflict, the two leave themselves at pivotal conflicts, with Garfield beginning to get the contemplations of joining Omega to fight back at all those who had tried to use, and Wolf considering on finally doing the right thing and handing Garfield over to MI6. **

**However, an assassination attempt forces them to separate. Garfield, out of ingenious thinking, finds the body from the photograph, preserved under odd conditions. From the shadows emerge his former teammates, and with all of them there, they tackle the problem now posed against them. It transpires that the Seer, who was romantically involved with the deceased, brought them together in an act of revenge for her dead lover. Garfield quickly learns that it is in fact a trap, designed specifically to lure them all out of hiding and into the waiting claws of the Snakehead and the Chinese triads. **

**The team scatters, with Garfield making a desperate bid to escape by launching himself off the edge of a building and parachuting through the streets of Hong Kong, pursued by an armed helicopter. Through sharp wits and agile manoeuvring he evades arrest and runs thankfully into Wolf, and together the pair escapes. **

**We meet up again with the two of them taking refuge in a laundrette. Garfield disappears for a moment to investigate a strange number he finds in the mouth of the dead Pilot, only to discover that the number belongs to Chief Superintendent Guozhi Ko, making a direct link between him and the Pilot. With Garfield suspicious, he gives Ko a vague warning and dark promise before hanging up. Meanwhile, below him, in the laundrette Wolf is confronted by an elderly lady who delivers an eerie prophecy of her own. She warns Wolf of the snake and the scorpion, and how once the scorpion died the end could not be defeated. She tells Wolf of how the end will now kill everything in order to take control, but leaves before Wolf can question further. **

**Here's what happened next…**

**Chapter 4: Recovery**

The next day came inelegantly, rampant in its beginning just as it had ended with sleep the night before. As though someone had flicked a switch, suddenly the whole laundrette burned into life. Quiet morning sun cut through the slats in the window bars, casting crisscrossed shadows across the floor and through the steam. The scent of acrid cleaner and phosphorous chemicals stung the air with tainted breath, fumed out by the machines and boiling waters. Much to the common surprise, children ran about the upper gangways, chasing one another precariously in a comical dogfight. Meanwhile, beneath them, adults toiled and worked as hard as they had mere hours ago, pulling from reserves of strength normally found in those of soldiers or labourers. No one breathed a word about the night before, when a woman had come round asking if anyone had seen a teenage boy with blue hair and a Spanish man accompanying him. The eldest woman, a friendly soul, had gone missing that night. But no one mentioned it because it was forbidden to do so. The woman who had visited caused quite a stir, crashing over lukewarm troughs of water and demanding if the two males were there. A young boy, however, no older than six, was tasked by his brave mother to pass word on to the two males hiding away in an alcove. It was a reckless and crude tactic to play, using a child as a messenger, but it was necessary. The message couldn't be delivered yet, however, as both men were still asleep.

Wolf stirred first amidst the pile of stiff, foul smelling bundle of cloth. It was early in the morning, and he glanced at his watch, only to notice it was broken. When had that happened? He swore under his breath. That watch had meant a lot to him. He would have to get it fixed when he got back to England… or _if_ he ever got back to England as the case might be.

Thoughts of home in the rainy country made a twitch of guilt swim in his gut. He had literally just walked out on his family all for a teenager that he thought he knew. Perhaps he shouldn't have turned down that call offered by Garfield earlier.

The mention of the teen's name sent shivers of coldness down his back. Wolf couldn't determine the feeling; whether it was of regret or anger he couldn't tell. It was some kind of corrupt indignation, warped by emotions of pride and love. Garfield had been callous with Wolf, closed off and incommunicative. His previous thoughts of handing his ward over suddenly seemed sour and wrong to him, jolting him with a flash of guilt. How could he have thought that? Besides, even if he _had_ wanted to hand Garfield over to MI6, he certainly couldn't now. Showing his face in public and getting arrested would be bad for them both, regardless of who was in the right.

Wolf looked over at Garfield's prone form sleeping amongst a den of his own cloths. He had slept away from Wolf, settling into a foetal position in the shadows and in lair of blankets. He looked momentarily calm and innocent like that, and Wolf tried to savour the image. But every now and then, Garfield would twitch or grumble in his sleep, crying out mutely at some evil force that was persisting at him. To Wolf, it looked almost as if Garfield were trying to keep someone off of him, pushing them away. Worried, he prodded at the teen's shoulder to wake him from sleep, and the response he got threw him completely off his guard,

"NO! WAIT!" Garfield bellowed, bolting upright, "PLEASE DON'T…" He trailed off, realising the lack of danger and becoming aware of his current surroundings. Fortunately, the heavy din of the laundrette smothered his voice, the whole building once more full of sweltering steam and heat. It made it near impossible to hear one's own voice over it all, and Wolf had to shout to be heard,

"ARE YOU OKAY?" he roared, cupping a hand against his mouth to some project his voice. It lost all its emotion, and he feared that its true meaning was lost in the noise. Garfield just shook his head dismissively, neither answering Wolf nor denying anything. It only served to make him more anxious. Wolf was about to speak – or yell rather – when suddenly a small boy, no older than six, flitted round the corner into the hiding alcove eagerly, a forced grin plastered from ear to ear with rosy cheeks. He had a mop of unruly black hair, with a scrawny build. In his hands were two bowls of some steaming nourishment, and he quickly blurted something to them before laying the bowls on the floor and running away, giggling. Wolf looked from the boy to Garfield bemused, wondering what was going on. Garfield just shrugged,

"HE SAYS HE BROUGHT US BREAKFAST," the teen explained plainly, going to retrieve his bowl. Wolf had half-expected him to get his bowl as well and bring it over, but he didn't. Not that he was surprised; they had just fallen out, so it was natural to assume that Garfield was still irked by the happenings the day before.

Silently, Wolf stooped up to grab his own bowl, only to find that there was a serving of rice in it along with provided chopsticks. Whilst he watch Garfield deftly tuck into his food, Wolf didn't know where to start. He felt like a savage as he examined the chopsticks and then his fingers, wondering how to work two simple sticks as cutlery. He desperately wished he was back in England, where the fork and knife made his life so much easier.

It was the sigh just across to his left that dragged his attention away from the food,

"Hold them like this," Garfield said, lifting up his hand to show Wolf the correct way of holding chopsticks, "With that there, then use that finger as a pivot." The noise had quietened down now, a slow period of work being undertaken in the morning. It felt eerily odd how quickly things changed.

Wolf tried with tenacious practise to master eating the rice, but he eventually failed and resorted to shovelling the rice in his mouth when he thought no one was looking. Suffice to say he was quite embarrassed by the whole ordeal, having only been really used to rations and takeaways. By the time he was finished, Garfield was suppressing fits of laughter at the poor man. Wolf bore the humour, knowing it may be his first step into getting back on Garfield's good side. If he were to survive the city, then he would need to stay close to his ward at all costs.

When Garfield finished too, he took Wolf's empty bowl as well and stacked them neatly in a corner by the alcove's entrance, scribbling a quick note onto a jot of paper and placing it with the bowls.

"I need to go," Garfield said, scratching the side of his head as he thought carefully, "You need to stay here whilst I go and try and find the others again. Something's wrong."

"I'll come with you!" Wolf exclaimed, "You could do with the protection."

Garfield raised an eyebrow,

"You're kidding me right?" Wolf didn't respond. He began to laugh, "You aren't kidding!"

"Why's it so funny?" Wolf asked, annoyed at being made fun at. Garfield wiped an imaginary tear from his eye,

"Oh nothing dear father," he cast a look about the room, "Fine you can come with. But don't be slowing me down, nor are you to get in my way. I don't like it when people interfere with my work." He finished with a dark, hallowed glare at the soldier before turning around without so much as another word and waltzed off into the heat of the laundrette, a billion questions running through his head. Why had they been set up? Who by? Had the others been killed, or worse, _captured_? He shivered, dreading the fate his former companions might have met. It was most certainly better to die rather than fall into the jaw of the Snakehead. What had originally been a smuggling organisation, branched off from Scorpia, had now turned and reared itself at China and the rest of Asia in one of the most brutal turns of power within terrorist groups Garfield had ever seen. It literally had entire nations bowed to their feet humbly before the cartels and overlords that essentially ran the streets now.

Together, with Wolf in tow, Garfield and he exited the building through a fire escape, not that it did much use. A fire would destroy the building in minutes. If anything, they were in more danger staying there than anywhere else. Garfield made the mental note not to try and return here. It was a death trap waiting to happen.

He swiped out his phone, thumbed in the password and dialled a number. He had figured it out during the other night's gathering. It took only three rings before the line picked up to silence.

"Want to meet up some time?" Garfield said in an exaggerated voice, imitating the teen he was supposed to be, "I really want to go to second base with you. Let's just forget about each other's history, yeah? So regular place, yeah? Oh, and bring some friends – whoever can make it. I'm bringing this friend of mine and he needs someone to hook up with. Anyway, see you later!" He promptly hung up, replacing his phone back into his pocket. Wolf was looking at his ward curiously,

"What was all that about?" he asked bewildered by Garfield's sudden turn of persona. The teen just sighed,

"I was talking to the Seer. That was code… again. Like the letter, we also arranged that should we need to once more convene at a different location, we would use a second code. Under the guise of a date, we say 'second base', which translates to an urgent second meeting. The implication of 'history' means that we are to meet at the most important museum as that it is the 'regular place' for tourists to usually go, so we won't stand out as foreigners. By bringing 'friends' means that I want all the others to be notified about the second meeting, and with 'whoever can make it' being that whoever has managed to evade capture. I also told her that I was bringing a friend of my own, so that she can warn the others if they didn't want to come knowing you would be there. Adding 'to hook up with' means that you are on my side and not an enemy. I knew the number because she's undergoing stress at the moment, and so her company is being pressured. That takes the number down considerably, and she is ruthless at her job, therefore we can whittle down that number further to a select few corporation giants. Then we have to look at those who work carefully with the police and abroad on a large international scale, supplying all sorts of industry from nappies to missiles. Which takes us down to one," Garfield pointed up at a towering building that speared the morning dawn. It glistened against the red rising sun; the sky tinted a bright crimson with the structure a bold green. It screamed wealth and power as it dominated the view of the city, "That building there belongs to the largest business in this part of the world. _Apollo Industries_ is the company that the Seer heads. She has quite the empire, but recently its come under fire due to questions into the ethics of its running."

"You're brilliant, you know that?" Wolf said, hoping to cheer Garfield up. It didn't work.

"We need to get moving," He said, only a hint of gratification in his voice, "We have to get to a museum."

TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI

A museum had always given Garfield the creeps. He detested them, almost as much as he did hospitals. They were buildings dedicated to the dead and gone, to lives long since lived and ended in ruin. Museums were places where people delight in the desecrating pleasure of looking at the past's remains, where they would hustle and bustle about as though it were a pastime. As he sat there now on a bench in a secluded exhibit, he dislike for the tourists who spent their time here was rekindled. He watched with exasperation as children ran from exhibit to exhibit, looking for the coolest or most gruesome thing they could find, not paying attention to the actual important detail at all and understanding why their ancestors fell. He watched as grown men and women wandered about, pretending to be fascinated by what they read, reading the cards supplied with a shard of broken pot, or a rusty knife. Garfield huffed when a tourist snapped a photo of a suit of armour, probably getting an amateur shot of something that may as well have been printed on a postcard in the gift shop – another thing that wound Garfield up. This museum was profiting off of these gullible tourists through the means of displaying old junk in a glass case. It was laughable to think that a cheap sword from two hundred years ago could rake in up to thousands of yen just for being there in this building. They were exploiting useless and irrelevant artefacts from years ago just for their own means of paying the bills. The others couldn't have arrived sooner in Garfield's opinion.

They came slowly at first, the Seer making a beeline for one of the exhibits that had an array of carvings in it. She was dressed casually, so not as to draw attention to her in a nondescript chino and blouse getup. The Mistress arrived next, sauntering in with her blatant air of confidence. Garfield could have walked right up to her and slapped her across the face for being so obvious, but he restrained the urge. Wolf sat beside him, pretending to read the newspaper but ultimately failing due to lack of comprehension of the language.

He stood up, and subtly motioned for the Seer to join him by an empty exhibit, just next to the bench he was sitting at. She nodded, finishing off the charade of examining her own display before moving over to join him. The Mistress didn't wait for an invitation, heading over straight for their exhibit.

"Where's the Gambler?" Garfield asked first, wondering where their fourth surviving member was. The Mistress forced out a choked sob,

"I saw him getting arrested. There were too many of them for me to do anything. They had guns and everything. They aren't playing around Orphan."

"So why weren't you captured then?" Garfield asked, suspicious. The Mistress glowered at him disbelievingly,

"I got away of course. I'm not that reckless to get caught!" She suddenly turned upon Wolf, changing the subject, "and who the hell are you?" The Seer hissed violently,

"Are you trying to get us caught _now_? Are you insane?"

"Oh relax darling," The Mistress slurred, "I had the guard look the other way for a while whilst we had this meeting. Let's just say I did what his wife couldn't…" She smiled, winking at Wolf who simply coughed and readjusted the paper, his eyes widening momentarily. Garfield chuckled, but kept on with the meeting,

"He's with me."

"What as; your bodyguard? An escort?"

"He's my… my father." The Seer was shocked, and spoke next with genuine happiness in her voice,

"Really? That's great! You actually got adopted! Oh, Orphan that's wonder- Oh… Well, it's wonderful, but we can't exactly call you 'Orphan' anymore, can we?" Garfield laughed again,

"No, we can't, can we?" He thought for a moment, thinking of a new name to reinvigorate his image, "Fine then, call me Blitz from now on." It was really a symbolism of his style. He was blunt, quick with his answers and often very arrogant and insensitive in his approach, which was especially more applicable now that he was back on the run and everything as a criminal.

"Very well then _Blitz_," The Mistress butted in, not bothering to congratulate Garfield on his new family, "Why have you called us all back today? I want to be out of this country before the triad come after me."

"There is something wrong with this whole scenario, and I can't put my finger on it. Someone has lured us out of hiding for some reason, and I cannot understand what or why. But that has to be put aside now because one of our own is in danger." Garfield looked from Seer to Mistress, gauging their reactions of mixed disbelief and astonishment.

"You're joking?" The Seer exclaimed, not caring now if anyone heard, "We can't just go and stage a rescue for the Gambler! If he's lucky, he'll find a way out himself. Other than that I say good luck to the guy and have nothing more to do with it!"

"I agree," The Mistress said, "You're out of your mind if you think I'm going after that imbecile."

"You're not thinking it through," Wolf suddenly said, speaking over everyone else as they bickered, "Even _I _can see the problem here, and I'm supposed to be the one who shouldn't know about these things." The Seer glared at him, whilst the Mistress looked up and down his body appreciatively. He sighed, standing up to join in the conversation.

"Just who do you think you are? You have no idea what's going on right now." The Seer had her hands on her hips, his glare intensifying. Wolf glared back, beating her down into submission with his infamous death stare,

"You're all criminals who once worked in a team, one of them has now died and the other captured in some elaborate trap; am I close?" He huffed, "If he's Blitz then I'm Wolf. Now I'm not a criminal and I don't dabble with the underworld all that often, but it seems to me that if you worked with this gambling guy then he knows about you, and that information could be worth something if it's revealing. If the Gambler knows about any of you, and has some kind of information that could cripple you in the real world then he poses a weak link to your little gang." Wolf looked between them all, "If he speaks, then you won't have anywhere to hide, regardless of being in a different country. If Gar… If _Blitz_ here was on the most wanted list of Interpol, then I'm betting all you are too. And the Gambler could hold a few little titbits of evidence that could bring you back to the surface."

The Seer wasn't impressed. She retaliated against this new intrusion,

"Since when were you such an expert?" She leant back on one leg crossing her arms defensively, "Let's see, by that slight taint of Spanish accent, I'd say you're from Spain, and by your build and way you hold yourself, you're an agent or spy. Now considering you're with Blitz here you're working under the cover of parenthood. What're you paying him? I bet _you_ set us up!" Garfield sighed and shook his head,

"Just… Don't try and be me. It doesn't work like that."

"Oh shut up!" the Seer turned on him with ferocity newly founded within her panic at the situation, "You think you're all that, and now here we are under strange circumstances! And you're working for a government now! Don't think that I don't hear these rumours that you turned to the good side. I can't believe I deluded myself into thinking you would help me."

Garfield suddenly went in close to her ear, whispering in an almost inaudible, malevolent voice,

"Not for long… Soon I might be part of the very people who murdered your lover," then he turned away, suddenly back to exasperation again, "Fine! I don't care what you do! Go and bury your head in the sand whilst I'll deal with the problem at hand… _again_! How could I have set all this up? I was in Britain when all this was happening! FIGHTING BLOODY OMEGA! I couldn't have organised all this! Why else did you think I came here? IN REPSONSE TO YOUR BLOODY LETTER! If I were to say anyone set us up I'd have a shot at you!"

"Well it wasn't me!" The Seer bellowed back, a full blown argument now storming through them both, "Just forget about the revenge crap! I'll do it myself – like I've been doing all my life! ALL BY MYSELF!"

"YOU DO THAT THEN!" Garfield finished, eager to get the last word as the Seer stomped away. Garfield breathed heavily as she left; the hollow victory bitter in his mouth. He didn't need her. But whilst she was the most incriminating, she wasn't the one to blame. It was too obvious that it was her who had set everyone up. It was too much of a clean open and shut case. No… Someone else was pulling the strings.

It was the Mistress, who spoke up and broke the silence first,

"I will help you."

"Why?" Garfield said, still infuriated by his sparring with the Seer, "What the hell could you possibly gain from helping me recover the Gambler?"

"Look," The Mistress huffed, jabbing an accusing finger at the teen, "Unlike her, I don't have a company to hide behind. While she's indispensable to the economy, I'm as common as muck. I would be torn to shreds if the Gambler reveals who I am. I haven't got a choice but to help you."

"Then we need a plan." Garfield thought for a moment, but the Mistress got to the idea before him,

"I overheard from some very _helpful_ officers that there's going to be an evening ball tonight in the new precinct they've built. State-of-the-art they say. Everyone who is important is going to be there. It might be a good chance for me to sneak around and see what else I can overhear from other _helpful_ people whilst you root about their servers and try and find what you can."

"Then it's a date. Wolf, go back to the laundrette," Garfield took control, "And I mean it this time. Without the Seer it will be near impossible to pull your ass out of the flames should you get too close; just steer clear for a while whilst me and Mistress here find out where the Gambler is being held."

"But!" Wolf tried but Garfield shook his head, silencing him before he could object further,

"That's final Wolf. No exceptions. We don't have anyone to fall back on here. No back up, no one…"

Wolf went to speak again, but clamped his mouth shut. He knew the uselessness of it by the look on Garfield's face. He wasn't in the mood to argue anymore. He sighed, the futility of it all crushing down on them both.

The Mistress and Garfield exchanged a few more curt words before she turned and swayed off, joining the small group of tourists being led round by an over-expressive tour guide. She blended in well, and was gone by the time Garfield had redirected his attention back to Wolf,

"I'm going to see if I can call the Seer and get her back on side. We may need her. If she does, then you may – and that's _may_ – be able to tag along and help with a getaway."

"Right…" Wolf said slowly, before changing the subject, "Can I borrow your phone again?" Garfield looked at him curiously, "I want to call the family back home and let them know I'm fine."

"Why didn't you just do that last night?" Garfield inquired, taking out his phone. He left it on the locked screen. Wolf shrugged, accepting the offered phone. He frowned when he noticed it was asking for the password again. "Take a guess…" his ward suggested, grinning as he stood back to watch the soldier mull over his options.

Wolf was at a loss. He didn't know what he could possibly suggest as a viable password. For all he knew it could be four random digits, or a specific key word. Something he already knew, so that at least narrowed it down. But what?

He went out on a whim and quickly typed 'WOLF' into the four square boxes.

The text disappeared, and the padlock came into focus from behind it. A brief tense moment passed before a loud claxon sounded, alarming Wolf as the phone told him he had three more attempts at the password. He huffed in annoyance as Garfield gleefully took the phone back, tapping in the correct password.

"Problem?" Garfield chuckled as Wolf snatched the phone back, dialling in his sister's number. He just shook his head and stuck out his tongue at the teen in a bizarre act of childishness on his behalf before focusing on the call at hand. It took only two rings for Amelia to pick up,

"Hello?" She asked tentatively, "Amelia Alvarez speaking."

"Amy? It's me, Trist." Wolf spoke as he walked away to get some privacy. Garfield waited by the bench as Wolf wandered around the corner of an exhibit, "Look, I can't really talk but…"

"Where are you?" She immediately interrupted, a sudden chorus of other voices joining in with hers. The whole family must be staying together whilst he had disappeared. They must be all worried sick… "Where did you go? Tristan, please, this isn't funny anymore. Come home."

"I… I can't. Not right now." Wolf cast a concerned look over at Garfield who was admiring – or rather criticising – a display, "I've got to look after someone first. Look, just let everyone know that I'm fine and that I'll be home as soon as possible. Until then just hang tight and wait. I got to go, bye." He hung up before any of them could protest or bicker further at him, and the phone switched back to the mocking lock screen that tormented Wolf so much. So the password wasn't his name, unsurprisingly really when he came to think about it, too obvious. But it was something he knew, yet something that had meaning… so what was it?

"You know, if you want, you can help out too."

Wolf spun around at the sudden noise, readying himself for a fight. But he was met with the slender form of the Mistress. She was eying him up with a blatant gaze. He became blank and neutral, just as his training had taught him when under interrogation or facing the enemy in conversation,

"I don't know what you mean."

"You care about him, don't you?" Wolf flicked his eyes over at Garfield, who was still preoccupied with the exhibits to notice them talking, "I know he's forbidden you from helping out with our little heist for the Gambler, but we could do with a strapping young man on our side." The Mistress draped herself over Wolf's shoulders, who instantly tensed at the touch. The woman laughed, "A little terse, aren't we? We've only just met; give a girl a chance." She pecked a quick kiss on his cheek, but Wolf remained stone dead and blank, "Here's the address for the police gala, turn up as one of the bodyguards for some foreign official and people will look right by you. And I do love a man in uniform." She smiled seductively before disentangling herself from Wolf's body. Leaving him with only a wink and a slip of paper in one hand, she swaggered away, Wolf dumfounded by her lack of shame and crude application. But what she said made sense. He wanted to keep an eye on Garfield, and wanted to help him. If he wanted to get out of this country fast and get back to his family then he would have to work with the teen in order to do so. Wolf glanced down at the slip of paper, pondering where on Earth he was going to get a suit from to act as a bodyguard.

TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI

The gala was a mediocre event, with alcohol being guzzled as though it were water and woman far younger than their male companions. Music would play from time to time to fill in the quiet hum of the evening, but nobody danced. The band would useless pluck a tune from their minds and play as they watched their society ruled by aristocratic businessmen and woman, and the corrupt officers and triads. Platters of food would be brought on display, and yet more wine and champagne passed around by the dutiful waiters who would not mingle within the crowd, but whom were not ignored entirely. Like the pesky fly, they heard and saw all yet were completely invisible if they did as they were told.

Amongst all the young waiters and waitresses was Garfield, dressed in the same smart kimono as all the other personnel that he had stolen from the supply closet hidden at the back of the kitchen, easily accessible via the unguarded alley behind the precinct. He weaved in and out between the clusters of men and women, listening out for anything that might glean a clue in his favour. He kept his face hidden, and he blue strand of hair was tucked under a black bandana he had fashioned out of a strip of dyed cloth. As he passed a slim tall woman, he nodded in her direction.

The Mistress nodded back casually, resuming her conversation with several other elderly men whom were puffing on large cigars and chortling away as though they owned the place. Or perhaps they even did. Garfield was only beginning now to see the extent to which the triads had taken over everything, and now Omega seemed to be stepping on their toes. The only sense Garfield could deduce from the sudden change in tactics was because of Scorpia's demise and Omega's sudden uprising. But for now, Garfield focused on the task at hand whilst he mulled over the reasoning behind his circumstances and Omega's still as-of-yet undeclared involvement. Everything was going like clockwork.

That was until Wolf showed up.

Garfield was serving a polite young couple who were merely enjoying the grand evening when he first caught sight of him. He was dressed in a ridiculous looking suit that made him appear as though he would rather belong in a mortuary than here. But Garfield, in a moment of grim humour, imagined him just that, due to him literally being so shamelessly in the lion's den without so much as a care in the world. He may as well have been wearing a great big neon sign screaming out 'fugitive over here'.

But Garfield lost sight of the soldier in a split second, and he was forced to abandon his post of waiter and seek out his new mark. He caught Wolf again over by the bar area, pretending as though he was naturally suited to the situation. He was anything but, and Garfield rushed in to pull him aside before he could do any further damage to the operation that they were undergoing,

Once he was certain they were out of earshot and out of view, Garfield turned on Wolf with unbridled venom,

"What are you doing here? After I specifically told you not to come, you came anyway!"

"You need someone to watch your back!" Wolf argued, not backing down from this fight, "You need me to look after you!"

"I don't _need_ anyone!" Garfield hissed dangerously. Wolf was shocked, taken aback by the sudden vicious nature his son was showing,

"You don't mean that..." he said quietly, his heart stopping within his chest. Such a simple statement caused him so much pain it was utterly unbearable. He couldn't understand why though, so he smothered it until he was ready to deal with it.

"Try me." Garfield wasn't giving in. He didn't seem to care if he had hurt Wolf, but in his eyes there flickered the slightest of emotions. Wolf could only assume it to be guilt and upset, but why he had no idea.

"If I may make a suggestion?" The Mistress appeared as if from thin air, suddenly by their sides.

"What do you want?" Garfield snapped, "Did you know that Wolf was here?"

"I had no idea," She lied smoothly, "I thought you told him to keep away?"

Wolf spluttered at the outrage, the sly smile curling at the Mistress's lips as she tricked Garfield into believing him otherwise,

"But-" Wolf tried in futile, but Garfield was having none of it.

"Will you just shut up?" He snipped testily, hissing each syllable, "Stop making it worse than it already is." He rubbed his temple with a spare hand, supporting his elbow with the other hand. His brow creased in concentration, the stress slowly distorting into a migraine at the back of his head, "I need to think…"

"I was chatting to some _helpful_ men a few minutes ago; apparently Guozhi Ko is here, if that is any help to you."

"That does actually…" Garfield clicked his fingers, a sudden moment of elation that lifted his spirits some, "If Ko is here then that means Gambler could be here too… He's an important suspect and criminal; only the highest ranking men would have access to interrogate him. With Ko being the most important officer here, then he would naturally keep someone like the Gambler close by. We're in a precinct, therefore there would be plenty of cells or interview rooms to detain him in. He's right here, right now."

"Then what do we do?" Wolf asked, glaring at the Mistress. Garfield broke in before he could say anymore,

"_You_ aren't going to do anything. You are going to stay down here, and wait." Garfield's scowl told him not to argue. Causing a scene there and then would be detrimental to the entire operation. Wolf kept telling himself that the sooner this was over, the sooner he could go home. Get the Gambler, get out. Surely it would just be that simple.

But the Mistress's lies and Garfield's slow change from kid to crook was worrying. The teen himself had been wittering about something being wrong with the entire situation, and Wolf couldn't help but feel the same pressure's his son was.

"Mistress, you wait here and see what else you can find out," Garfield turned to Wolf, grinding each next word with more force than the last, "You. Stay. Put." He made a lunge for Wolf's hand, making it seem like a vicious grab. But it wasn't. The teen pressed something into the soldier's palm and winked, whispering the words, "Wait for my signal."

"What signal?" Wolf asked quietly. Garfield shrugged,

"Well, you shouldn't be here… Let's say that much…"

Wolf looked at the small device now nestled in his hand.

It was Garfield's phone. The teen was up to something devious.

Garfield began to walk away, scanning the crowd for someone who might be useful to him. Wolf was protesting behind him, but he ignored him. He ducked between the throng of people, grabbing the arm of a young girl, obviously drunk and beginning to act tipsy and excessively giddy.

She flustered about, giggling incoherently about what he was doing in Cantonese but he simply swung her in front of him. Underneath his kimono, Garfield drew out the Beretta PX 4 Compact, pressing the muzzle of it into the small of her back,

"Scream, run, struggle or react badly and I'll have you permanently in a wheel chair," he whispered in her ear, "Now smile and act like we're going to have sex." The girl whimpered, biting her lip. Garfield savagely jammed the gun further into her back, "Do it, or say goodbye to walking!"

She did as she was told, and together they walked arm in arm towards the elevator doors. The guards barely paid attention to them as Garfield swiftly improvised and snuck in for a passionate kiss. The girl was shocked, but she soon fell into the guise he had set up and they staggered into the lift, the doors sealing shut behind them.

Once the eyes of prying onlookers vanished, Garfield instantly changed. He shoved the girl away, pulling the gun from view and directing it perfectly at her face. She was about to go back for more, but saw the menacing metal and decided otherwise. She huddled against on side of the lift as it slowly rose.

Keeping the gun trained on her, Garfield tore off his plain gold kimono and dropped it to the floor. Underneath he was fully outfitted in his familiar combat gear, light and agile with all his necessary equipment with him. He had a second handgun in another holster opposite his first, and realising he no longer needed the weapon in the enclosed environment he put the gun away. The woman seemed to breathe a little easier.

The lift came to a stop, and without a word Garfield dragged the poor woman out into the empty hallway. Down to one side, light spilled out from an office, flashing multiple shades of grey and blue from a flickering screen. Somebody was inside talking animatedly on the phone, pleased yet grumpy at the same time.

"Right," Garfield said, finally addressing the girl in a less threatening manner, "I want you to go over to the guard and seduce him. Keep him busy for as long as you can or else I'll put a bullet through your head instead." The woman didn't understand, but Garfield knew better. He opened his sight, allowing the information to raid his mind.

_Slathered make-up – Hiding many wrinkles, keeping up a façade of youth. Possibly irrelevant.  
>Bruised left eye – has been abused by someone.<br>Severe scarring around the hairline/Lips are unnaturally large, as well as breasts – The woman has undergone plastic surgery and filling operations to improve her outward appearance.  
>Not married, yet a parent – Her clothes were cheap, and her jewellery tacky. No indent on ring finger suggesting no ring ever having been there at all. If she was at the gala then surely she should earn a considerable amount of money if she isn't married. Unless…<br>Taking into consideration other facts: the woman uses her body to the extent of earning her living. She is a potential escort, but more likely a prostitute when taking into account her being obviously middle aged and quite old for the role of working the streets. She has been hired last minute by one of the men, or brought in cheaply for someone to be lucky (or unlucky) enough to take home with him. Her injured eye would suggest abuse, but if not from abusive partner as one might think then her pimp. _

_Conclusion: The woman must understand English._

_Evidence: If the woman is, as facts may suggest, then it is not too farfetched to assume the woman is not particular about her clients considering the lack of custom she must be getting now due to age. Without a criteria for clientele, then she must work with many men who are willing to pay high enough. However, only those who do not see or know her from past experience will hire her again, so she finds her custom in foreigners. With Mandarin being the most common language, and already knowing Cantonese, she must therefore also know English due to the high operating English-speaking businessmen she may come into contact with. Men would refuse to be served by a woman who can barely communicate with them, as it is poor for business and dangerous for the woman should she not be able to warn her client about anything such as prices, diseases or preferences. _

"I know you can speak English, so don't try and play coy with me," Garfield brought back out the gun, displeased that she was being so uncooperative, "You're a prostitute; of course you can speak English. Now don't play games and go and seduce that guard."

"Why?" She said, "I see no guard…"

"He's round the corner talking to his son on the phone about his birthday," Garfield sighed, knowing the unseen, "Do I have to explain everything?" He took a deep breath, knowing inevitably he would have to sooner or later, "By the door, there is a large bag. Now this isn't a typical bag as it contains a wrapped item inside. His son's present. Now he works a security guard, and is stuck working a late shift by himself. Normally, this would be fine, but the man is on the phone to someone which we can deduce by the lack of a second person responding to him and him talking loudly. He doesn't expect anyone to be coming up here, and so calls back home. As to the reason why he's making a call, well, it's obvious. Now while he could be calling his wife or a relative, it's unlikely. His wife would understand if he was working, and he wouldn't bother calling a relative if he was at work. But he's missing something, you can tell by the tone of his voice. There's a hint of restrained anger. He doesn't want to be here because he's missing a party of some sort. Only a child wouldn't understand why their father is at work, ergo he has to call them to make them see he hasn't just forgotten. That would relate back to the size of the present. You can tell it's a son thanks to your ever so useful China's one child per family law. He's stuck in a dead end job; a daughter, no offense, is not going to be able to support him when he's old and grey in his mind. So he would only want a son. Therefore he is calling his son. Now do I have to ask for yet another time for you to go in there and keep him 'busy'?"

The woman was shocked for a moment, but soon recovered, she shivered as she got to her feet, her clothes barely fitting and revealing in all the wrong places. She walked a little towards the light,

"What if he doesn't want top desecrate his marriage? What if he won't have sex with me? I don't want to be the cause of some divorce especially when there's a child involved." Garfield inwardly cringed. Of course her parental side would kick in, being a mother herself. She only worked to get as much money as she could to spend on her child or children. That's why everything she wore was so cheap, and why she was still working the streets. Garfield dug a wad of cash from his back pocket,

"He works in a dead end job. I don't think he's going to be particularly bothered if he's offered free sex he might not get elsewhere." He tossed the cash to the woman, "Whilst you aren't going to ask any more questions."

She considered this for a moment, but then slipped the roll of money in between her cleavage, out of sight. The act sealed the deal, crude as it was. Garfield felt barely the slightest of care for the man, his wife or his son. If he were to be fired at the end of the night, or worse, killed, then it wouldn't change anything for him. The means justified the end result, and right now there were more pressing concerns than just a marital argument and affair.

"Just this once," she said, squinting out of discontent at Garfield before she trotted away to do her assigned task. Garfield turned around, examining the atrium he was in as the guard was distracting. Part one was complete, now for part two and to get the Gambler out of here.

**Thank you to all for persevering with me. I know my updates are disorganised, but I am trying to keep to my schedule. Things just get in the way and then one thing leads to another… -.-**

**Anyways, I've gone for another two part action scene here, much Like in the Rider Conspiracy (Which I suggest you read by the way, if you wouldn't mind :D ). In addition to this, I have written The Rider Prelude for Alex and Ben's beginning, and to those who are fans of Blue; you'd better take a seat. I have started work on a prelude for him as well, so bear with on that one.**

**Also, it looked like everyone's guess at 'WOLF' being the password was wrong. We got three more tries people, so have another shot whenever you feel like it. But that's not today's question. Instead, in order to receive feedback on how I'm doing and what you're al reading compared to what I'm writing, I pose another question to you:**

**What do you think the Mistress is up to? (Or, optionally, why do you think she keeps saying helpful as '**_**helpful**_**'? XD ) Of course, you don't have to answer, just a review would be nice with a few comments on how I'm doing, that'd be great! **

**Thanks – K9**


	5. Snared

**My apologies once more for lateness; I am never this tardy, but exams and whatnot keep clogging the way. I've finally finished one of my subjects, so now I got about two free hours a week to do what I like. I should be able to write a bit more now considering.**

**This may become a chapter I will come back to in order to make edits. By the time I had finished this I was very sleepy, so forgive me if I have missed out details.**

**By the way, I figured I may as well give you an image of what this lock screen looks like. See if it helps :D  
>.com#/d4to8cw**

**In response to reviews:**

**LarkaTheWhiteWolf: Perhaps. But would Garfield use his birthday as a password? And the Mistress is a manipulative character. You may be right… or then again maybe not. Who knows? Thanks for reviewing!**

**Dani9513: Thanks for reviewing!**

**Mazken: I chose the name Blitz following this running joke I've had going on. During TRC, Alex kept referring to Garfield as Blue… echoing the fact that the bomb Alex stopped in Snakehead had in fact been called Royal Blue… And now again, Garfield is up against the Snakehead and bombs were used during the Blitz. Not only is there that, but the meaning of Blitz the same kind of attack that Garfield would do. Sorry if it was a little farfetched… :S Thanks for reviewing!**

**Aestiva: Well, we'll just have to see what the password is. So we have a smaller conspiracy of our own with Garfield? Interesting… Thanks for reviewing!**

**2whitie: Thanks for reviewing!**

**Owltalon: Thanks for reviewing! Garfield takes secrecy to the extreme! Thanks for the compliments, and I have been taking my time. Your concern has been duly noted and praised. I hope you like the next chapter!**

**Previously in the Viking Insurgence:**

**Wolf and Garfield reorganise for a second meeting after the disaster that had been the first. This time, with Wolf tagging along, they avoid carnage and arrange a new plan to rescue the Gambler, who having been caught by the police could expose them all.**

**But cracks start to appear with our 'heroes'. Garfield is becoming more and more darker, sucked back into a world he had once left whilst Wolf desperately tries to hold onto the hope of home.**

**An evening's entertainment might hold the key to their eventual escape. But is it all that it seems?**

**Here's what happened next…**

**Chapter 5: Snared**

Garfield glanced about the atrium he was faced with. Rectangular walkways overlooked the open centre, a great glass ceiling dotted with missing window panes that allowed pale moonlight to spill along the carpeted floor. The dim light from the adjoining office was briefly interrupted, the man inside seeming alarmed for a moment before calming down. Then the light resumed its inane flickering and his conversation was abruptly stopped. The teen smiled; time to get to work.

He took a running start and vaulted up some of cubicles positioned at the centre to take up space. He kept as hushed as possible as his feet gently fell against flat surfaces, becoming the quintessential ninja as he leapt from footing to footing. He was thankful that the designer hadn't been aware of the potential free runners that might have passed through his building or else Garfield's mission would have been infinitely harder than it was now.

Strangely, Garfield noted, that most of the furniture and adorning fixtures were mostly covered with tarpaulins or heavy cloth. There was a slight draft coming from where the ceiling was missing several panels, and the chilled whispers ran down the teen's neck. The entire building had this eerie feel to it, the music from down below so muffled that he could hardly hear the vibrations. Then there was the lack of evidence of activity; the regular chaos and disorganisation Garfield expected to associate with an office of any kind was absent from the precinct. Either there was some compulsive cleaner who obsessed over every detail or the place hadn't been worked in at all. Not a single paper had been moved into a cubicle in anticipation to the move into the new construct, not a single filing cabinet was ready to go into a new office. The place was barren, void of all signs of life.

Garfield pulled himself up onto the first level of the walkways. He could hear a few slight scuffles coming from the guard's office, and the sounds of grunts and moans. Supressing the faintest of smiles the teen slunk away from the edge of the walkway and deeper into the shadows. He plucked a torch from his utility harness, turning on the high powered beam and shooting it into the dark. He then took a small earpiece with a futuristic looking monocle attached to it from another pocket and carefully adjusted it to fit his ear, switching it on. He heard the itchy grate of static for the briefest of moments before silence cut back in, signalling he had connected to the paired earpiece downstairs with the Mistress. The monocle glowed blue, lighting up and displaying several statistics and options Garfield had available to him. It kept a track of his heart rate, his body temperature and such.

His footsteps were silent against the carpet, and the monocle constantly cast out a sweep of resonating frequencies, ranging from sonar to x-rays, looking for hidden traps or pressure panels along the floor. Garfield quickly became accustomed to the keeping his breathing quieted, his movements slow and calculative and the blackness that shrouded him save for the torchlight.

A sudden sound of quickened footsteps ahead of him made him duck down for cover behind a dusty cubicle, slamming a gloved palm over the torch end, extinguishing the light. Overhead, the owner who the footfalls belonged to was pacing almost feverishly. Garfield held his breath as he listened patiently, visioning the owner as they walked forwards, then bizarrely backwards, only to walk forwards once more. Garfield flicked his eyes open again, keeping his sigh of relief to himself as he realised there was no immediate danger. There was a guard above him, not an alcoholic but a compulsive smoker. He was suffering from withdrawal, yet cannot satisfy his craving because he has been posted inside the building. A guard would not be an alcoholic due to the inaccessibility of booze when working and he would be fired on the spot if he was working for the police. They may be slipping in morals, but that didn't mean some standards were completely ignored. His pacing was a sign of nervousness, his inability to have a quick cigarette. But his pacing gave away his weakness. He was an ample man, his footfalls too heavy and misplaced for anyone sleight. He had an unusual gait to him, suggesting prolonged times from sitting down. But as to why he couldn't just whip out and have a drag then and there whilst no one was watching was worrying. He was holding back for some reason. It wasn't like the fumes would be caught as the open ceiling meant that smells were swiftly dispersed into the city smog, and the likelihood of him getting caught was slim. Unless Garfield was wrong with his assumption upon the likelihood, because if he was then instead he could infer that the guard would be in plain sight of any superior officers, and that he was monitored twenty four seven. That or the circumstances in which the man smoked resulted in some kind of punishment or terrible outcome undesired by the guard. Perhaps the nervousness was due to something else that was putting him off? The puzzle perplexed Garfield, refusing to give him a tangible answer on which he could verify his intuition.

He snatched out his Beretta, also taking a suppressant cylinder from his harness and screwing the two together. With his crude weaponry assembled, Garfield aimed the torch back to where it should be pointing and carried on creeping forwards, searching for either a computer terminal left unguarded or the Gambler himself. He had checked prior to the heist; the system was set up around an entire internal network barely accessible from the outside. With the level of control the Chinese imposed upon its people in regards to technology Garfield wasn't surprised. If anything he was impressed by the execution of it all. It always marvelled to him how easily a nation could be coerced by a few people to follow set rules. Even England managed this. Whilst bankers earned billions in bonuses the grumbling workers would complain about the unfairness of it all, earning very little or not enough. Yet the bankers would say all the right things the public wanted to hear and then continued to claim their million pound bonuses regardless. One powerful man can control the many. A donkey may lead the lion. The idea that was Omega's main principal, and it enticed Garfield just so.

Realising his search was futile on the floor he was currently standing at, he figured he would have to go higher. He tapped the intercom device in his ear, opening up a secure channel,

"Mistress, you there?"

"_No, I'm currently unavailable at the moment so please leave a message," _her voice slurred over the communication link. It was obvious she was beginning to feel the effects of getting drunk. Normally she could hold her liquor, but perhaps her constitution had waned over the years, _"Of course I'm here!" _She snapped testily, _"What do you want?"_

"I need a better idea of where to go; you hearing anything?" Garfield whispered, keeping his voice to a minimum. He hid in the shadows whilst he waited for her reply. It was a good few minutes of garbled laughter and rushed talking before the Mistress responded,

"_Go up. I got some _helpful_ guys here saying that they've got some important business meeting later high up in the new precinct that demands their attention. Could be an excuse for them to interrogate the Gambler? Get away from the party maybe?"_

"Possibly; good work." Garfield lugged his body over the edge of the side, so that he was now dangling over the atrium he had entered first into. The low drop down was hardly intimidating. He had dealt with worse.

As he shimmied along to a supporting column that could provide footing up to the next floor, the Mistress fizzed back into life on the communication channel,

"_So, what's it like up there?"_ She seemed strangely interested, _"How's the security? You found anything yet?"_

"Nothing much really, except lack lustre guards and very little security. In fact the place seems purposefully deserted…" Garfield glanced about him from his perch on the column, "The place is half-finished, but even if the construction was truly complete there's hardly any tools lying around yet they've wasted money on soundproofing the entire floor between where you are now and the atrium I'm in."

"_Meaning?" _The Mistress asked patronisingly, _"You think about these things too much. They could have just had it cleared for a while with the gala being on and then they'll start work tomorrow again."_

"I certainly hope so." Garfield was straining to pull himself higher up the column. It was quite a gap between floors, and his arms weren't so regularly used to climbing nowadays due to his inactivity. "It just unnerves me. Like it's too easy." He grunted, his arm nearly buckling under the tension. He would be definitely sore later.

"_I suppose…" _She didn't really believe him, but Garfield could only express his concerns. In the end, it was his heist so it was his call to abort. He had control over the entire situation.

He thought that would be the end of their conversation and that she would leave him alone to finish off his business, but his earpiece didn't not stay silent for long,

"_This Wolf man," _She said in an unusual tone, _"Who is he _really_?"_

"Just a friend," Garfield answered curtly, not wanting to linger on the subject. But the Mistress pried deeper,

"_A friendly friend or just a friend?"_ She asked. Garfield rolled his eyes. Why was everyone thinking that they were an item? For heavens' sakes the man was nearly twice his age, or thereabouts!

"Just a friend!" Garfield growled, finally reaching the floor. He swung himself up, hissing under the agony of contorting his body to a weird angle. "Nothing more."

"_So then why is he here then?"_ She continued, the conversation now turning into an interrogation. _"Did he follow you or something? Is he your handler? Or were you telling the truth when you said he was your father?"_

"We don't have time for this!" Garfield suddenly snapped, shouting out into the dark. Despite his best efforts to muffle the sound as it came from his mouth, his yell was loud enough to be heard by a guard on the floor above. From out the dark a shaft of light was directed at him, the beam burning brightly in the teen's eyes. There was a shout of some kind, perhaps an order before the beam started to jostle about, Garfield realising the man was carrying a high intensity flashlight. Switching on a light correction function on his eyepiece, Garfield took aim with his pistol at the guard, zooming in on his radio as he was about to call for help. He fired a single shot which shattered the casing into a thousand pieces, sending shards of plastic off in all directions, some cutting at the man. He reeled backwards, shocked by the sudden explosion attached to his shoulder. The distraction was enough for Garfield to fire off another shot dead centre of the man's forehead. Death was instantaneous, and he slammed down to the floor like a falling tree.

Commotion and chaos was taking the air now. Garfield could hear the screeching radio of the nearby officer he had heard pacing before making its way near him. Fortunately the man was merely curious as to what was going on and not making the obvious assumption that there was an intruder in the building. Garfield had just enough time to huddle behind a covered vending machine and keep quiet as the man ambled around the corner, torch in hand and radio in the other. Not armed; that was good. If he had been armed Garfield would have been at a serious disadvantage. Any loud sounds now would completely give the game away. But the radio posed a problem. Unlike the first guard, this man could easily call for help. Garfield wouldn't have enough time to get it away from him before he lashed out with that hefty looking flashlight. He would have to rely upon statistics and pure luck. Hopefully the man wouldn't notice him, and he would walk right on by. But then there was the chance he could turn around by random choice. If he did, then he would be instantly greeted with the armour-clad form of Blitz, an unknown assailant.

The man scanned about.

How long had it been?

Garfield bloated his cheeks, refusing to make the slightest of sounds. The officer came properly into view.

He pressed himself as far back into the dark as he could. Sweat pricked his brow as he counted the seconds in his head. More deaths would equal more exposure. Bodies could be found and someone would raise the alarm. Too many bodies and the game would be up far too quickly.

Unconsciously, the man's uncomfortably and edgy shifting brought him a few inches closer to Garfield. He was within arm's reach now. The teen restrained all his urges just to end it all there, to slash out into the open and make it a quick kill. But he refused to get actual blood on his hands. Guns were fine, but when the kill was up close and personal it was almost revolting. The concept of literally controlling a person's life was a push too far for Garfield.

Garfield's lungs were searing under the pressure. He would have to breathe soon or risk suffocation. If he waited a little while longer then perhaps the guard might move away. Or, on the other hand, wait too long and when he breathed he would be far too loud.

Slowly, as though fate were mocking Garfield that day, the man began to turn around, continuing his search for an obscure disturbance. Garfield shuffled as far as he could back, preparing to pounce. The man would be heavy, so momentum would be essential to this predicament.

The beam blinded Garfield as it swung into his face. There was a yell of surprise before Garfield surged forwards, tackling the overweight guard. They tumbled back together, and Garfield got in a good sucker punch to the man's gut before he was thrown backwards by a rough shove.

He stumbled, crashing over a stupid plant pot that spilled a torrent of soil all across the floor. The guard wasted no time in turning upon the teen; seeming to be uncaring that he was a child. Garfield's innocent charm, it seemed, would no longer work from now on. The torch was swung violently around in a hammer towards Garfield's prone head, and he scrambled backwards out of its path. The torch returned for a second shot, now swung upwards in the reverse of its prior course so that it was aimed at his jaw and chest. The move was impossible to avoid, so Garfield grasped the man's wrist with both hands and used his momentum to slam a kick down into his abdomen, rolling backwards and heaving the ginormous man up into the air. With gravity doing the rest, they carried on rolling backwards until the man's head cracked hard onto the floor, with Garfield now on top and with the upper hand. Below him, the man groaned in pain, and Garfield allowed himself a moment to recover, breathing heavily from the lack of oxygen and overexertion.

But the man's pain was a feint to throw Garfield off the mark. With alarming strength and shocking accuracy considering he had just received a bone-shattering concussion, he gripped the teen's ankle and yanked viciously, causing the teen to abruptly fall to the same level. He yelped with panic, astonished the man was still even conscious with the blow he'd taken. Garfield wasn't going to go down without a fight however, and was about to get back up into a stance. But he was cut short by the man's weight pressing down on him. He had him pinned, and Garfield started to try and throw the officer off of him by thrashing about as he felt sweaty, grotesque hands clamp around his throat.

He began gasping for air as he was choked on the floor, helpless under the man's crushing weight – a unexpected asset considering the circumstance. Whatever the teen did he could not shift the man's overhanging stomach, nor could he move his arms as they were held against the floor. His windpipe was squeezed another millimetre more, the pain excruciating as breath failed him. The man's grip tightened and tightened. The darkness was growing in seeping ghosts from the walls; from everywhere. This was how it could end, surely? Not like this.

With his last ounces of reserve strength, Garfield arched his body so that his legs came and hooked onto the man's head, tearing him backwards. His hands were ripped from his throat, and Garfield sucked in thankful gulps of filthy air, pleased to be free to breathe again. The man tried to attack the teen again, but he was ready this time. He leapt up, pivoting on his hands to swing his legs round in a wide circle, chopping at the shins of his assailant. The man was forced to stagger back as Garfield's shoes clipped his legs, sending unbearable vibrations up the man's bones. He completed the circular path of his legs, and pushed up with them once they were back in position. Garfield sprang forward, smacking out with a controlled punch to the man's shoulder. The officer tried to counterattack with a vindictive swipe at the teen's head. Garfield dodged it efficiently, wasting no effort at all. He danced round the man, kicking out a foot at his right shin as he grabbed the man's head in a lock from under his armpit. It effectively cut off the use of his right arm, made him lose his balance and fall into Garfield as he took control of the man's body via the means of his head. In all fairness, the man did recover somewhat and try and turn around, but Garfield was too far ahead with the manoeuvre for him to do anything. A support column stood before Garfield, and with the extra height to the ceiling that seemed to be incorporated in the build, it allowed for him to perform a stunt he wasn't particularly used to.

Defying impossibility, Garfield ran towards the column and began to run up it in a staggering feat. He kicked out with the balls of his feet and jumped back over the guard still in the lock, adjusting the angles of his arm and body to counter for the change in direction. He now was the furthest away from the edge, with the man bent back at an awkward slant so that he had very little power over the situation. He was shaking on his legs, not used to the strain at being at such a bad angle.

Garfield was unsure as to what to do now. He had the problem contained and under control, but now he had to do something to the man. He had a hand shut tightly over his mouth to prevent him from calling out, but his gun had been lost in the fight, clattered to the floor somewhere. He would have to find it later. His second gun was in its holster. If he could quickly…

Suddenly, the man bit Garfield's hand. The action itself wasn't that painful so much that Garfield let go, but it was enough to provide and even more convenient distraction and allow the man to exert his physical strength and hoist Garfield up. Now riding on the man's back, he was unable to stop the man as he charged forward in a spur of random madness. Together, they were flung over the edge of the side, falling two floors down.

Adamant he was not going down with a sinking ship, Garfield thrashed to disentangle himself with the officer. He just about succeeded, and clasped onto an overhanging light that cracked and creaked under the pressure of his weight. The officer seemed to be manic, and clutched onto the teen's ankle dragging him down. Garfield shook his leg, trying to free the grasp yet not so much that he would fall as well. He reached for the second Beretta, and pulled it out quickly firing off two silent shots into the man, careful to avoid his own foot. He slumped lifelessly, his weight quickly pulling him down. But the hand slid off slowly, and Garfield felt a shiver run down his spine as the grip went limp and loose.

Garfield sighed shakily, swinging his body and latching onto the side of the first floor. Two bodies lay dead on the ground floor, pools of blood spilling into one. He shuddered at the sight, blocking the horrific images from his mind. He had better things to be thinking about. Garfield cast a brief look back at the office where the hooker and guard were still in. It seemed their busy activities had kept them both unaware of what was happening outside. He breathed another sigh of relief. He had been extremely lucky not to have attracted too much attention.

Garfield began to climb again, pulling himself up to the higher levels, he skipped the second floor, but made sure to find and pick up his lost gun before he went past it. He was about to haul himself onto the third, but it was something on the sixth floor – the upper most level – that caught his eye. A light had been left on in one of the rooms, dimmed but still lit. Maybe a desk lamp or computer screen still on? Either way it was something more interesting than dark corridors and empty offices.

With a set destination set, he clambered up higher, using fixtures that were attached to the walls as extra footholds. They did the trick, and soon it became an easy climb up to the sixth floor. There weren't any guards up here, which was odd considering the Gambler could be here. He would have expected much more officers to be patrolling about than an abysmal two. It was almost slandering the importance of the Gambler – whatever that importance was.

He didn't give it much thought as he pushed open the ajar door and checked to see if the room was vacant.

Inside, the office was bare. The brick had not been properly built, nor had it been painted or over sanded down to an even finish. The floorboards were jagging up at uneven angles, wires hung overhead exposed and the chill of midnight air drafted in through the absences of the window. What would have been an entire wall made of glass was gone, the frame ready for an awaited pane to be slotted in. The fall lead out onto the gala below, a long drop down into a giant fountain that had been built for artistic prowess and arrogance of the precinct, giving it rather the air of a luxury hotel for the criminal than a place of danger and solidarity.

"_Blitz? What do you see? Where are you?"_

"Quiet!" Garfield hissed into the earpiece, "Not now."

But what seemed the most out of place in this shabby environment was the expensive flat screen television set on a pedestal in the middle of the room. Off to the side, a mannequin was bound to a chair and gagged, hideous features drawn upon the blankness of its head to resemble a laughing person. A bizarre wig and unusual completed the image of a demented captive who looked like they had been dreamt up in a child's nightmare. As Garfield entered the room, he set off a trip wire accidentally somewhere, and a cassette tape played the raucous laughter of an audience crowd, giving an eerie atmosphere that seemed like a twisted game show.

"There's some kind of television, and a mannequin of sorts…"

The television blinked on into life, a scene of what looked like an ornate throne room. Garfield tried to analyse the image he was being presented with, judging whether it was recorded or live. His questions were both answered and interrupted when someone came on camera and blocked his view.

There, as clear as day in crisp picture quality that exuded ill-gotten money, was Guozhi Ko.

"Good evening Orphan, or as I am now to call you Blitz." His tone was formal, but he was hiding something beneath the glamour of pleasantry. "I suppose you are wondering why you are here, or perhaps why I am speaking to you now. You see, you're here because you're trying to liberate the Gambler. But what you don't see is everyone else all scrabbling over one another in a bid to get at him as well. And guess who's got him?" He took a step closer to the camera, jabbing a stubby finger on his right hand at his face, "Me, that's who! I've got him, and suddenly everyone wants a piece of me! The triads, my government, you, Omega; everyone!" he paused, thinking for a moment (or at least pretending to do so), "Now, I have many opportunities available to me here. I could be loyal to my government and hand the Gambler over, but we both know that's out of the question, and I think that they know that chance is slim also. So then perhaps I could hand over to the triads, the men who have made my life the luxury that it is, but I could get so much more! I could squeeze them for every penny they own and it still wouldn't be enough. Cutting a deal with you is fruitless, so we turn to our last bidder, Omega. I've seen what they can do and I want a part of it, much like you do apparently. I would make you an offer to join me, but I know you would refuse. We never did depart on the best of terms, did we?" He raised his left arm, holding up his hand for the camera to see. It was a prosthetic, made of a sinister painted metal that could club a man to death, "I refuse to work with you! You are scum, and since Omega seem so greatly interested in making your life hell I'd like to sign up with them. They can offer me anything I want, any price I want. I could even own a country! They've got vast things in mind, Garfield, and I'm just taking my slice of the profits. But I need you gone, out of the way so you won't meddle with Omega and I, and they have tasked me with the initial test of killing you. Thankfully, I know how you think, how you act. I placed very little guard so that it would be assured you would be lured into the trap without fail, but just enough men so that you wouldn't think anything of it. I placed unfit and coercible men in your way so that I wouldn't lose anybody valuable to me." Ko took the step back to where he first started, "Have you met my new business colleagues, by the way? They're dying to meet you."

The camera panned away from Ko, and off to two female figures stood before a view of the city. Garfield took only the briefest of notes on the scape before directing his attention on the women.

And he was shocked at what he saw.

Both the Mistress and the Seer stood side by side smiling into the camera. The Mistress was waving, a giddy smile plastered across his smug lips. The Seer seemed more rather forced than anything else.

"Surprised?" Ko laughed, a scratchy nasal tone, "I would be. Betrayed? Almost certainly. Dead? You will be… I've taken a little inspiration from our Omega friends here and decided it would be fitting that you go out with a bang…" Ko winked at the camera, and then the television cut dead. If that implication wasn't enough, Garfield pieced together the rest of the information he knew.

_The officer was reluctant to smoke…  
>Both men didn't use firearms…<br>The building wasn't complete, as though its construction no longer matter so long as the outside appearance and general interior looked relatively finished…  
>A trip wire setting off a warped mannequin's laughter…<br>Inspiration from Omega…  
>Go out with a bang…<em>

_Smoking could cause a spark…  
>As could any firearms…<br>Building is incomplete because it was merely a stage…  
>The trip wire hadn't just switched the television on…<br>Omega was found of fire…  
>Cliché…<em>

_Conclusion: bomb._

Armed with enough knowledge to make some sense around the death of the Pilot, Garfield barely had enough time to make a run for it before heat erupted all around him.

TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI

Wolf downed another glass of champagne, the taste sour and the novelty of drinking expensive drinks have been lost ages ago. Having nursed countless of glasses, Wolf huffed, decided enough was enough. He hung around near the temporary open bar area, keeping just near to the door so that he could make a quick getaway if needs be whilst also staying in clear shot of the lift doors. He started off staring at them, but soon had become bored and distracted by the loud noises of unintelligible conversations and numerous serving boys and girls mulling about. For all he knew they could all be plotting against him, talking about him directly in front of him and he would never have known.

His eyes graced over the Mistress again, who stood off to the side laughing with some official looking rotund man. Every now and again, Wolf would catch her looking at him. When he did catch her and she realised, she would wink, or laugh in an exaggerated manner. She would blush on cue, and would brush her hair back behind one air and trail down the nape of her neck with a manicured hand. Wolf noticed her skin was the palest white, her hair curled and preened to perfection…

Wolf coughed, glancing away again. He really did need to find a girlfriend. His brothers and sisters were all happily taken, Snake was married and Eagle and Lion were together as a couple now. He had no idea what was happening with Fox, but apparently he had his eyes on a few ladies. Everyone was busy except him. He had forgotten how alone he could be without his girlfriend anymore. He had Pup, but it wasn't the family he envisioned.

Seeing for ways to mildly entertain himself, Wolf soon found his hand snaking to the mobile in his pocket. He slipped it out, loading up the screen to the lock screen. He was greeted by the same annoy message. I am safe. Always and forever it was just I am safe with the funny padlock in the background, upturned for some strange reason. Wolf stared at it for a few minutes, thinking carefully about the password. It could be any four random digit or character code. But it was something he knew, so it couldn't have been _that _random.

He deliberated a moment more, his thumb hovering over the keys. Maybe it was something he knew, something basic and easy. Without much hesitation, Wolf entered his guess. Four simple little digits that meant so much to them both; Garfield's birthday, the twelfth of January – '1201' (the British date).

He watched carefully as the text once again disappeared, the padlock came into focus the lower one disappearing also. He waited and waited for what seemed like decades before, finally he got his answer.

The claxon sounded.

He was wrong. _Again_.

Frustrated, Wolf growled. The phone told him he had two more chances. Why did Garfield keep telling him then that he did? What was it? It plucked at every tired, frayed nerve in his body. He and Garfield shared so many traits in common; they both didn't like not knowing.

From somewhere in the back of his hearing, Wolf heard the soft thump of something. He couldn't place it, but it sounded awfully familiar. He listened quietly as the world continued on around him. For safe measures, he pocketed the phone

Wolf's gaze soon returned to the Mistress. She was murmuring to herself, her hand raised to scratch an ear. Except she was scratching, she was pressing something into her ear. Talking to Garfield perhaps? She abruptly looked up in his direction straight at him. Her face was cold, her eyes expressionless. Wiggling a finger, she beckoned him over. Seeing as it could be important, Wolf left his glace with one of the serving girls and weaved his way over to where the Mistress was. He was about half of the way over, caught by a bustling crowd of men and women when suddenly the entrance slammed open, the doors crashing on their hinges.

There, stood in the threshold of shadows and neon lit streets was Garfield, soaking wet.

But it wasn't enough to attract everyone's attention. Garfield soon demanded it, however, by pulling his gun from its holster and firing three shots into the ceiling.

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen," He began glamorously and loudly so that everyone could hear, not that anyone was talking. They all stared at him with wide eyes like rabbits caught before the predator. "I suppose you're all wondering what this insane, psychotic, gun wielding teenager is doing barging into this splendid event. Well, let me just say to you all that there is more at work here than what it seems." Garfield addressed the Mistress and the group of men she was standing with, "I saw the video. The camera quality was perfect, the directing could have been better and you looked like a slapped arse when in shot." The Mistress bristled under Garfield's cutting comments, but he ignored her, "Oh, and by the way, a big help goes out to our favourite viewer, the Seer!" Garfield waved to the security cameras dotted about the ceiling. "I understand now; by refusing to help free the Gambler means you appease to your Omega overlords. The Mistress is, I'm guessing, one of their agents and that you have been forced to join their cause because you were made the offer of a lifetime. You do not want to be directly involved, and so simply act under the impression of them to suit their whims. It was good… Very good even. You almost had me fooled for a moment. The letter was authentic, as was the reasoning, but you allowed yourselves to slip. You gave yourselves away…

"You were never romantically involved with the Pilot. I decided to test the waters with lying, seeing if a false theory would flush out the traitors from the innocent. Why on Earth would you be in love with the Pilot? You didn't need him. You're devoted to your work! Love is a distraction, and he was a fat Finnish with a crappy day job, a moustache that looked like it belonged to a walrus and is utterly out of your trend set. He would be an embarrassment to your business. The media attention would be ruthless; therefore any romance you were going to have would be purely for looks. Some young man, rich perhaps, or popular in the eyes of the public – the Pilot would only degrade your image. With all that in mind, you threw yourself out into the open and up for critique.

"But then it was you decided to join in, Mistress, by further strengthening the excuse of romance. Had you not tagged along with the Seer on the guise of this lie then I would never have suspected you in the first place. I had to call a second meeting to see if the Gambler had been a part of this ruse, but it seemed unlikely that such a tentative man would follow the orders and plans of another. He is his own, and from past experiences, he acts solely on his own plans only sticking to the objective he must obtain. But, nonetheless, I had to be sure. So I organised a second meeting to see who had escaped. By logic, any traitor would have walked free and an innocent would have been captured and therefore unable to attend a second meeting. The building was surrounded. No one could have gotten out."

"You did," Chief Superintendent Guozhi Ko said, finally stepping forward, "Twice, I might add."

"Because I'm not an idiot," Garfield mocked despairingly, "and I know how to jump…" He shook his head, "But that's all beside the point. Considering it was the Mistress who told me it was the Gambler who had been caught, and that it was her solely who had assisted me so far up to now, I can only assume her to be an actual agent due to her forthrightness.

"Moreover, my suspicions were raised once more when the Mistress then further informed me that a gala would be occurring barely within a day of the escape. It seemed even more improbable that the Gambler would be held right at this very gala, and impossible that I would have the easiest of times getting past the security and to specifically designed room. Even the precinct was built to be destroyed. It had Omega written all over it, literally on the Pilot's body! The half built construction and sound-proofed floor meant that an explosion could be contained. It was just too much of a coincidence."

"So what will you do now, _Blitz_?" Ko laughed haughtily, his cronies joining in the villainy of the orchestra. Innocent men and women cowered in a huddled mess at the centre of the room, unsure where to step for fear of Garfield. Wolf was there amongst them, invisible in the sea of faces. It was time to act. The phone held the video. Garfield's earpiece had Bluetooth, and so did his phone. It was easy for quick simple file transference from the expensive brand new HD television with Wi-Fi compatibility. Now Garfield had evidence to blackmail the police should he need to.

He raised his armed hand, firing another shot into the ceiling,

"Those who shouldn't be here should leave." He hoped Wolf got the message. The inkling should be enough for him to act, surely? Without another warning, the group of fearful civilians filed out in a giant snake of people, all prying and clawing to get out of the door first. Snake turned to blob, and then they all spewed out into the open. Only Garfield, the Mistress and Ko. A few other men remained, no doubt armed. The standoff was brutally quiet. Food, instruments and all sorts of knickknacks lay discarded about the place without a care in the world.

"What now?" The Mistress asked, sashaying her way towards Garfield, her dress falling about her, "Will you kill us?" Her tone was cutting, and was full of anything but fear or panic. She believed she had Garfield caught, trapped in this little game. But he wasn't going down fighting. He knew more than they did, he knew what forces were at play here.

"Ko," Garfield began, addressing the officer, "Why _did_ you abandon the triads and join Omega? You can't trust them, you know. You don't fit in their new world order."

"Then I shall tag along for as long as I can," Ko sneered, "What does it matter? At the end of tonight you will be dead and I will still be alive for many more years to come. What will save you now; logic?

"Not logic," Garfield answered blankly, "Technology." He smiled, allowing himself to be treated to the moment of surprise on their faces. It was delectable to see them flounder like dead fish on the end of the line, writhing and wriggling to be free; caught on their own hook, snared with their own trap.

"What do you mean?" Ko demanded, his face slipping to red then purple as he suppressed the fiery rage beneath. He had always been a violent man. He would take what he wants and all he gave in return were broken bones or perhaps a casket. Garfield kept a moment of silence for the effect, and as well as Wolf's speedy departure he hoped. Knowing the man he might try to stick around and see what he could do to help, but right now Garfield needed him as far away as possible.

"What I mean is that you shouldn't pull out all the stops for your enemies. I have a phone that is more than capable of downloading that video of yours you so kindly left for me and taking it to your good old triad friends. I'm sure they'd love to hear about you switching sides, and it would be more than enough to get them off my back." Ko was about to make a sudden pounce at him, but the Mistress blocked his path,

"Now, now dear, don't get stressed out," a smile played at her lips, her teeth looking more like fangs in the bleak shadows, "Allow me. This requires a woman's touch…" She too was about to take a step towards Garfield, long nails painted and manicured raised to do their worst. She looked just as primal as Ko did. But the teen cut them both short,

"Do you think I would make this much of a scene if I had the phone on me?" he asked incredulously, "Seriously? Did you really think I'd be that stupid to just _tell you_ what my plans were? That's a bad guy's flaw, not mine!" He held his hands out at arm's length, holding back his laughs with gun in hand. He chuckled slowly at first before he couldn't hold it any longer and it came forth naturally in booms of laughter. Soon the joke for Garfield died down, but he kept laughing a little longer, fake all the same, but longer.

_Keep buying time._

"Where is the phone?" the Mistress ordered, snapping her fingers. An officer came jogging over, and took out a pistol and pointed it at Garfield's head. The teen didn't bat an eyelid. Still holding his own weapon, he raised and it and without even breaking his stare with the woman he fired point blank. The guard fell back rather dead, and the shock of the sudden kill ran through the whole room. Garfield raised an eyebrow,

"Really now? Holding me at gunpoint?" He smirked, "I'm the only one who _really_ knows the password to the phone, and you have no idea where the phone even is. You may have me, and in turn you may perhaps have the password, but you most certainly do not have the mobile. You need me alive either way to find out both, so threatening to shoot me isn't very original."

"You're bluffing!" Ko tried desperately to inject the upper hand on his side of the playing field, but the battle was rapidly being lost. Even the Mistress saw the logic in Garfield's argument.

"The brat isn't lying. I can tell. I've known him for too long. And he's right. We can't kill him either." And so Garfield was the victor. But his foes appeared not yet defeated, "But that doesn't stop us from having fun with him…" The Mistress pulled her sardonic grin even wider, and with another click of her manicured hands set loose the armed thugs surrounding them on Garfield.

Without missing a beat, Garfield drew out his second gun and began picking off guard by guard. Skilled precision and cold-blooded accuracy brought down man after man, the shots ringing out tenfold in the precinct.

But inevitability was against Garfield, and as more and more men converged on him, so he lost more and more ammunition to the point his barrels were empty. Reloading was a futile gesture of rebellion. Instead he accepted fate, and dropped both weapons to the ground. But in a wicked act of a final resistance, he drew a short knife from his harness; he managed to wound on the guards who had taken an avid interest in attempting to kick him in the groin.

Bodies piled on top of him, cuffs and rope and chains encased him, and a haphazardly placed elbow sent Garfield out cold. He last tasted blood welling in his mouth and the heavy pressure of gargantuan brutes suffocating him before he slept in a fitful nightmare of reality.

TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI

Wolf stood there staring at the laundrette as flames befriended the night sky. Smoke churned and stewed as it rose in a tower of its own, blotting out the few stars that remained. People were rushing about, some trying to save their loved ones, others their only source of income. Fire-fighters were on hand to put out the fire but the worst had been done, the damage irreparable. Wolf couldn't help but feel that it was all his and Garfield's fault and that they should never have come here in the first place. He watched senselessly as a small boy, covered head to toe in ash, soot and burns, was carried away on a stretcher to an awaiting ambulance. That boy had brought Wolf rice. A few hours ago and he had been happy and playing about. Now he was dying. And it was their entire fault.

He had signed up to be patriotic, to fight for his country, to fight and protect the young and innocent. Now he was just endangering them. He had been stupid and reckless, and most of all selfish. He'd gotten himself way over his head. He wanted, like a petulant child, to go home and to hide himself away from it all, to cower behind military protocol and routine and to just forget about it. To forget the darkness he had caused this day.

It was this reason, this feeling of utter self-loathing, that Wolf allowed the Omega operative to approach him. He allowed himself to be roughed around a bit, to be beaten and abused by the operative. He simply stood there and took the pain, his fist clenched tightly around the phone as he thought of ways to make whoever did this to pay an unforgivable price. This operative would take him where he wanted to go. He would take him to those really responsible for this much misery. He would take him to Garfield, and to whoever had allowed this evil to corrupt the world.

Something hard smashed into the side of Wolf's head, and he blacked out in an instant, even before his body toppled to the ground.

The phone clattered out of his hand, and skittered across the tarmac.

The words 'I am safe' glared out into the burning dark with the brightest of lights, the cursor blinking endless for some input. Only Garfield knew the password… only Garfield and he…

**Dun dun dunnnnn!**

**Sorry… I'm a sucker for cliff hangers. Things get stranger and stranger yet. It seems the murder has been solved, but not its motive. Why did the Mistress kill the Pilot?**

**But more importantly, what's going to happen to Garfield and Wolf now? **

**Thanks to all those who are reviewing. I really do appreciate and comments you have to give!**

**And it would seem that Garfield's birthday isn't the password. Damn, I had hoped you'd all be right DX**

**But anyway, I'll get straight to work on the next chapter! Au revoir!**

**Thanks – K9**


	6. Resist

**I really do urge people to have a look at the link below. It only goes to Deviant Art to my account, so don't worry about viruses or any of the like:  
>#d4to8cw**

**In response to reviews:**

**Aestiva: I will update as quick as I can, and I hope you continue to read :D Thanks for reviewing!**

**Dani9513: I am trying to update as soon as I can! We'll have to see about the password ;) Thanks for reviewing!**

**Getsumen Kage no Mai: There might be a chance of bringing Alex in if you wish. Although bear in mind that that was never the intention so forgive me if the scenes appear cumbersome. Garfield is more MI5 material. Some people thought he would become a Gary Stu (perfect character all round) but I hope this story proves that he is anything but. He is dark, somewhat arrogant and only has an intellectual advantage; everything else is due to his ruthlessness. Thanks for reviewing!**

**ALEXRIDERFOREVER: Thanks for pointing that out! It does help that I've got people keeping beady eyes out for me. Writing is hectic! DX Thanks for reviewing!**

**Owltalon: I will try and update ASAP! I've got holidays now so whoopee! You are incredibly perceptive… Perhaps you are trying to give Garfield a run for his money? :D We'll have to see what happens to them both… and this password that eludes everyone. I've given the clues, even a helpful image! There is nothing more I can do! Anyway, thanks for reviewing!**

**Previously in the Viking Insurgence:**

**Garfield began an assault upon the precinct in a desperate bid to locate the Gambler. With very few obstacles in his path, the suspicion was constantly mounting. Things didn't make sense, and it was a sudden confrontation between Guozhi Ko and him that allowed Garfield to see the situation with greater clarity. **

**In order to save his life, Garfield leapt from the building top and into a pool down below. No longer holding the upper hand, the teen criminal made one last bid of resistance of futility to save both his and Wolf's lives. **

**With his ever-important phone in the clutches of the enemy, Garfield finds himself faced with dark horrors in a cold, black cell.**

**Chapter 6: Resist**

The silent tapping of water against wet cloth was the only thing Garfield could hear. His ears had been shoved full of wool, his eyes blind-folded and gagged with a damp cloth. The tap-tap-tapping was persistent against his forehead. But the drip was inconsistent, and so no matter how hard he tried to count the seconds of his captivity in isolation, his count would be marred every now and again. In his own mind, he guessed he had been there for just under an hour, they he suspected it was anything but.

The dripping was annoying. But this was torture, and so that effect was to be expected. Garfield just had to keep his mind occupied until they returned. He shuddered. When _they_ returned; it sounded almost as though he feared them. If he kept his wits about him, he had nothing to fear.

When timing had failed, he resorted to his failsafe approach of trying to analyse what he knew. He went over again and again of his current situation, trying to find the missing piece that would complete the grand elusive jigsaw before him.

_Numerous attempts to take life: Taxi explosion, assassination attempt at hotel, second explosion at precinct. Perhaps all are linked instead of random events?  
>Drip… Drip… Drip…<br>The Pilot had been killed and made as an elaborate show of power and as bait. He is irrelevant.  
>The Gambler seems to be at the forefront of the enemy's plan. Potential relevance but may not be alive…<br>Drip… Drip… Drip…  
>Both the Seer and the Mistress betrayed him. Alliance with Omega? Mistress is more likely the agent.<br>Ko is working now for Omega. Why have the triads not tried to kill him yet? He has a whole organisation under his feet with loyalty to the triads. Wavered their allegiance or is working from both ends? _

_Note: Must inquire during next interrogation._

_Drip… Drip… Drip…  
>Wolf will have most likely been captured. For fear of me being uncooperative, they won't kill Wolf. However they could…<br>Drip… Drip… Drip…_

Garfield flicked his head from side to side a bit, trying to move with what restricted limbs he could. His eyes scrunched more into their furrow as he thought harder.

_However they could attempt to use him as drip in order to drip me into giving them the drip to the drip.  
>Phone… They want the drip… password to the phone. Stop thinking about the water. Stop thinking…<br>The phone is the only thing that is dripping… No… _keeping_ us…  
>Where was I? Where am I?<br>Why am I drowning?_

_…_

_Why can't I breathe?_

_NO! I have to focus. I have to keep focused in order to live…  
>Only drip… can't drip… why is drip… drip… drip… not fair... drip… drip… he doesn't love me… drip drip drip drip…<em>

Garfield began to thrash about, his mind refusing to concentrate on anything else. His lungs felt like they were full, burning for air. But the water was on his chest. It surrounded him… If he breathed now he would die. He didn't want to die.

His body betrayed him, his final solitude and trust in himself finally snapping like a taut wire.

He breathed.

Water flooded his lungs, choking and drowning him. His mind's own trap. The pain was excruciating.

Garfield screamed.

TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI

Wolf sat slumped against the cold floor, the stench of acrid urine hung in the air. He had tried turning his nose up at the smell ages ago, but he'd been there for so long now he could barely remember it was even there. Wolf had scratched the days on the walls using a scrap bit of metal he'd managed to find lying about the cell. His head was just by the right of where these marks were now, sixteen faint indented lines. Two weeks and two days, been and gone.

But Wolf was no longer sure of himself if it had been sixteen days or longer… or even shorter. They had put something in the water the first day that made him drowsy, and it had altered his sense of timing somewhat. He could only guess he had been there for three days. He never touched the water again. His throat was sore. Sometimes the guards would force some of the water from their own canteens down his gullet when he wouldn't drink. Then they would snicker as Wolf found the foul taste in his mouth. He then realised the sick joke they were playing on him and would vomit for a while; only a few hours at best.

The fight had left him quickly. The torture sessions grew more and more frequent, escalating in atrocity. Beatings to unrelenting interrogations, then on to electrocutions; sometimes they experimented, switched in between methods with a quick tempo. His only resistance was to keep his mouth shut. With no sign of Garfield and all his possessions taken from him there was very little he could do to fight back. He had considered taking one of the guards out with him; a swift blow to the back of the head with his scrap metal, or by taking a large brick and dashing him with it. The urge for blood had crossed his mind one too many times as they sauntered past his cell, guns slung at their hips like amateurs. What would it take just to reach out through that tiny gap in the door and grab one of them by the neck and…

It was all futile, of course. He knew deep down he would barely have the strength to lift a feather let alone a grown man by throat. He could only wait for whatever mercy or miracle laid in store for him. Wolf sighed, accepting this miserable fate caused by poor judgement. With his head hung low, he could only think with sobering thoughts of what his family might think of him now, whether he might make it back to them, back to his unit. He'd trusted Garfield, and made a bad error in reasoning. Now he – and later they – would pay the price. The only difference between them was that his price was agonisingly slow and painful.

Bitter tears stung at his eyes as he thought of what could have happened to Garfield – his son, his _Pup_. He refused to admit that he had been killed. With every possible ounce in his body he physically rejected the idea, minor convulsions every time he said 'Garfield' and 'dead' in the same sentence aloud in his head.

It wasn't fair!

Wolf began gently sobbing, a strange, unusual sense of grief passing over him. He'd gone through RTI… He'd been interrogated hundreds of times before. Why was this different?

It was Garfield… It had to be. Allowing himself to be captured, tortured with the inevitable possibility of death was fine, but for Garfield it just wasn't right. Wolf was angry with himself for going along with the teen's plan. Now he was most likely dead, meeting some cruel twisted end in a dank room. His stomach wretched and heaved at the thought, but with very little food it was only a spiteful of bile that he managed to cough up. He spat it across the room, uncaring for his humble squalor. He was a soldier… reduced to _this_.

Noise suddenly started up from beyond the cell door. Somebody was coming. Several, Wolf guessed, by the scuffle of feet, someone was being dragged through the grime. Voices were snarling in the same language he'd grown to detest, and the sound of keys rattled in the lock.

The cell door was flung open, three figures stood in the doorway. The smallest of the three was brutally thrown forwards with so much force he flew through the air and slammed in the wall. Wolf watched complacently as the door was crashed shut and locked. He made no move to go help the motionless body until he was certain his tormentors had left them in peace – even if it was at least for a short while. He listened intently to their receding footsteps before scrabbling over to his new cell mate.

It was the glint of wet blue hair that made him go limp.

Garfield was dead.

Frantically, Wolf searched for a pulse, checked the teen's chest for the rise and fall of his chest; anything to show he was still alive. His fingers, numb and weak, pressed and prodded for the jugular vein. He held steady for a few moments, holding his breath in deathly silence waiting for the signs of life. Nothing.

Now acting solely in desperation, Wolf hauled Garfield's body onto his back, tearing out the soaked gag from his mouth and ripping open the rag of a shirt on his torso. He began compressions, hitting hard and fast with fervent ferocity. He counted in his head, going down and opening the boy's mouth. He forced breath into his lungs, watching for Garfield's chest.

Still nothing.

Again, he returned to ramming steady compressions on his chest, determined not to allow him to die. It wasn't fair! He growled angrily to himself, once more heaving air into the body's lungs.

But it was no use.

Garfield was dead. He… was… dead…

Wolf sat back disbelievingly. He stared for what felt like hours upon end just sitting and staring. His eyes glared at the body, information failing to process. First he was furious, angry at himself for not doing something more proactive. Next he was upset, so wracked with distress that he huddled into a corner of the cell just quietly sobbing. Then he was bitter again, shouting obscenities at the walls, the ceiling, the floor, Garfield, the guards; anything that taunted him with their placating impossibilities. After that came the quaint acceptance. He simply sat there next to Garfield just waiting for whatever grand design of torture or death that awaited him.

It wasn't soon after he had run his emotions dry when the guards came for a second time that day. At first Wolf thought they were just delivering the regular muck they called 'food' and were going to leave again. But they didn't. They opened the door with that familiar clang of keys and allowed stark light to stream in through the doorway.

_This is it. _Wolf though, swallowing a lump of grief in his throat. _This is how I die_.

A small bundle of clothes were thrown to Wolf's feet; his usual attire. Wolf looked at them with astonished curiosity. Exact replicas of the ones he'd worn when he had first arrived with…

He crushed the thought of Garfield with vigour, not wanting to go through the motions again. With a hardy look, he stared at the guard in the doorway.

"Get dressed. You have five minutes." Then the door was slammed shut, and he was left with his first remnant of outside life he'd ever seen in recent days. Calmly and without the slightest slip of emotion, he picked up the bundle gingerly and began to get changed. He tore off the rags that barely covered his muscular frame and put on the fresh garments. He still stank to high heavens and had a mass of stubble around his face with the promise of a full grown beard, but at least he felt reasonably more civilised.

He was finished seconds before the door was crashed open again, and the same guard stood there with the same vicious sneer. Now that Wolf could get a closer look without being spat on or hit, he could see that the man had a snarling scar that ran down one side of his face, contorted with puckered red flesh. His left eye was squeezed shut because of it, and part of his hair had jagged and fallen out where the scar continued. It snaked its path all the way back around the man's head, up to the apex of his skull. His eyes were a dark shade of brown, his mouth small and pinched. He was, in Wolf's eyes, rather detestable. He oozed hatred and cowardice from every pore, and it was as though Wolf could smell that fear radiating from him. The uniform, the barriers of the cell and the handgun by his side were the only things that protected him from the more adept soldier Wolf.

He gestured with the gun for Wolf to step out of the cell. No cuffs were roughly clasped around his wrists, which were unusual – and instead of the familiar harsh shoves Wolf was led along in a peaceful, albeit hurried manner. Corridor after corridor of foul-smelling, overcrowded cells passed Wolf by as he held up his stoic mask. He wanted nothing more than to turn around and punch the shit out of the guard, to make him choke just as Garfield had choked, to make him bleed, to make him…

They came abruptly to a set of lift doors. The guard jabbed the button, and simultaneously the doors opened to an empty carriage, cold steel on all sides. The gun was thrust into Wolf's back. He obediently staggered forwards; the guard close behind on his heels. Another button-jab and the doors cracked shut.

The lift rose in a hushed clatter. The belts an cables pulled and strained as the metal box was dragged higher and higher into the heavens. Wolf felt his ears pop, a signature sign of high altitude. Just how high were they going?

His question was left to stew in his mind as the lift drew to a halt, and the doors pulled themselves open. A stab in the back from the guard shoved him brutally forwards, and the doors were slid shut on him. Wolf was left watching at the unmoving doors as the lights flickered further down a level by each passing second. The walls slid shut over the lift doors, sealing completely the exit and entrance. Obviously this was going to be a one-way trip.

"Wolf?" a familiar voice said behind him as he stood there gormlessly. Wolf, with sudden avalanche of thoughts and emotions bearing down on him, turned around slowly.

The room was of unusual architecture, looking more like a tower of steel than an elaborate waiting area. The floor met with the wall in a gradual curve so it resembled something more of a ramp then sharp incline. This curve led up the wall all the way to the top, where a glass dome allowed a halo of light to shimmer down, illuminating all below. Numerous guards, all stone-faced and neutral as the last, stood in a ring around circular room, rifles clung to their chests. Inside this circle, however, was a great halo of light that lit up a staggering statue of yet another dragon, but this one was by far the most impressive. It towered several feet into the air, taller than Wolf himself by a long shot. Its head was held up proudly with power, and every scale had the finest touch crafted into it. The dragon breathed a delicate torch of glass fire, fibres of ruby, jade and topaz that glittered in the light. Gusts from unseen vents and conditioning units blew a draft of air swirling about the room, and if Wolf listened closely enough he could hear the melody of the rushing fire.

But all this paled in comparison to the figure stood before him, now looking at him perplexed, just a little in front of the statue. Wolf stood there looking absently with a fond sadness behind his glassy eyes as he looked upon Garfield, alive and well. He was wearing his usual jeans, blue tee shirt and black blazer, his hands slung in his pockets with an attitude of casualness. If it weren't for the faint bruises and cuts, and the slight sideburns and goatee around his face then Wolf would never have been the wiser to whether he was a hallucination or real. It was as though he had just stepped over from England in a quick heartbeat.

"Wolf?" Garfield tried again, clicking his fingers to attract his actual attention, "Wolf, you in there?" The soldier shook himself from the reverie,

"How…" he spluttered, his mind still disjointed and grieving, "How are you… You're dead…"

"I know… I saw," Garfield said plainly, "They showed me the footage from the cell. I'm sorry. It was a cruel trick."

"I don't understand…" Wolf stammered in ignorance, "What's going on?"

"That wasn't me. In the cell, that body. It wasn't me. They killed some other kid from off the street and put him in my place. They drowned him, put on one of those masks we saw Mr E use and threw him into your cell. You unwittingly fell for this trap whilst I watched through concealed cameras. Perfectly played psychological torture – I must commend them, it was brilliantly executed."

"I thought you had died…" Wolf stated meekly, relief flooding his heart. His legs felt numb but he resisted the urge to sit on the floor.

"Yes, I'm afraid you did." Garfield carried on, unbeknownst to the emotional trauma Wolf was recovering from, "Whenever such a trick is played, only two outcomes can be truly expected. One, the victim reverts to a catatonic state where they are easily willed and cooperative, having no desire to carry on causing any more trouble so that they may escape the harsh reality. Or, on the other hand, they become hardened and fix a steely determination that is even harder to break than before. Whoever is holding us – be it Omega or the triads – that was a last ditch attempt to crack us. I assume they tortured you as well?"

"For a while…" Wolf said, his mind still absent and trailing behind, failing to catch up with the facts being delivered.

"Oh… I'm sorry…" Garfield supplied pathetically. It was a measly offering of an apology, but Wolf accepted it nonetheless. The teen went back to silently admiring the dragon whilst Wolf allowed himself the pace to speed up with the situation. Suddenly, in his head, something clicked,

"Wait, what do you mean 'tortured as well'?" he demanded, his anger returning once more with invigorated gusto. He could feel a vein pulsing under his skin as his heart rate soared. Garfield kept quiet, but his face went pale white. He knew he'd been caught.

"Oh, I was just… _interrogated_… Nothing major; I thought that you might have had the same treatment…" His voice trailed off, the futility of further lying becoming apparent.

"What did they do to you?" Wolf asked in a cold tone. It cut through Garfield, hearing that undercurrent of viciousness.

"Nothing," he lied, trying to quell the fury, "I'm fine. Look at me, I'm fine!"

"Answer the question Pup," Wolf stated with the same hard voice before repeating, "What did they do to you?"

"Just interrogation, perhaps a little rough-housing, you know, insignificant stuff." He glanced at the irksome guards who did nothing but stare, "And maybe a tad bit of water-boarding."

"They what…?" Wolf spluttered. "They what?" he said again, gaining more rage and volume than the last time. His eyes narrowed in anger, and he looked for something to take his hatred out on. Unfortunately, the guards were his nearest target.

He was about to race over to the closest one, and perhaps it was the context of the conversation or Wolf's sudden escalation in fury that triggered them off, but the guards made a move to stop him, all raising their rifles to shoot. Thankfully, however, Garfield got there first.

"Wolf, stop it!" He held a hand against his chest, using all his strength to keep the soldier from firing off like a bullet, "The only reason you're alive is because of me and their interrogations, now stop it!"

Wolf calmed down in the instant, although he breathed heavily as his body worked out the adrenaline. His eyes lost their clouded touch, and they became clear with a bristling clarity. Wolf uttered a one word command,

"Explain." Garfield was all too happy to do so,

"By the result of your capture, you were used as psychological torture against me in order to obtain the passcode to the phone. Our captors simply had you held prisoner to be their plaything and to please their twisted desires of pain. I was shown several images of you to verify that you were indeed captive, but I had to sure that they had the phone. I knew that they wouldn't hold onto you forever; a waste of resources, you see. But, in a random act of stupidity, I caught one of the guards messing around with my phone, and so I knew that they did indeed have it. I gave away information that it was not only I that knew the password, but you also. That made you valuable, and so safeguarded your life. Now we, the pair of us together, are surviving in a paradox of knowing the same four character code each."

"I don't understand, how does that keep me alive?" Wolf said, "I don't know the code. I've gotten it wrong twice already."

"Yes… your incompetence is a flaw. You've been practically useless, no offense. I had expected better off of you…" Garfield shook his head, "But that's beside the point! The point is that the phone is our insurance, because we both know the code. If I die, your new-found determination which they so riskily gave you will make you keep your mouth shut forever. And if they kill you, I would never then in a million years ever give them the code. They can't kill one without silencing the other. They could, in theory, destroy the phone, but something is keeping them from doing that…"

Once more the teen trailed off, and it left Wolf thinking how much of a grasp he actually had on the situation, how much they both understood of what was happening. Garfield coughed, breaking the eerie silence between them that seemed to settle every so often, "This place has been reconditioned due to China's lack of building space. It appears to be some kind of what once was a power plant now built as a prison of sorts."

"How can you tell?" Wolf replied, falling into the swing of conversation he could participate in rather than contemplate what awaited them both. It was just good to listen to Garfield's voice instead of envisioning his dead counterpart.

"Well this place for a start," Garfield gestured about him, "Appears to be some kind of gas fumigation funnel. Or perhaps it was cooling tower. Either way, it leads directly outside through that dome up there," he pointed upwards, "I'm genuinely surprised at the design of it though. It's a flawless surface all the way up. No light fixtures, no random bricks that jut out. A perfectly smooth plane for the wall," He thought for a moment, "Ko did always like refitting old fashioned things. He called it a hobby."

"Ko… That's the police guy, right?" Wolf asked, "The one who works with the triads… and now Omega?"

"Yes, it would appear Ko has since switched sides…" Garfield sighed at Wolf's vacant look, so further went to explain himself, "Guozhi Ko and I crossed paths several years ago during my servitude with the team. Back then he came close to foiling one of our plots, and led a unit mixed with triad gang members to storm our base of operations. The battle was brutal; since I was the youngest and most dispensable of the group in their opinions, I was abandoned whilst the rest all ran and ducked for cover in foreign countries. We had been talking throughout the prior heist that we should split up, but from that point onwards we had unofficially 'officially' disbanded. Ko lost many men at my hands, and in return I lost many assets. It ended in a terrifying confrontation where I barely escaped with my life, but I managed to mark down his name with humiliation for being the child that defeated the Unconquerable Ko – or, at least, the not-so-unconquerable-conquerable Ko."

"Yet he's been promoted through the ranks? How come?" Garfield scratched the side of his chin,

"He works for the triad as well as Omega. Naturally he's going to shoot to the top positions with the right amount of persuasion."

Another quiet moment fell between them. From far below, resonating through the floor, the sound of gears and levers turning sounded upwards. The walls parted again, but the doors did not open.

"So what's the plan?" Wolf asked in a hushed whisper.

"Stay alive?" Garfield responded hesitantly. He had no tricks up his sleeve this time. He would have to think on his feet once they were moved from this room to whatever awaited them next.

"What do you mean-"

The lift doors opened, and out stepped the Gambler, fidgeting and twitching just as Garfield last remembered him. He was dressed in a similar outfit as when he had arrived. That struck Garfield out as odd; they were all wearing the same clothes. Someone knew their tastes well. So much so that they had given Garfield the clothes he had wanted, something similar in design for the Gambler and Wolf exactly the same things. That was certainly bizarre.

"Ah, Gambler, good to see you still alive," Garfield joked cheerily as though it were the colloquial greeting. Wolf's question was left unspoken and therefore unanswered.

"Unfortunate to see that you're still here Orphan," the Gambler replied grimly, "You should have left whilst you had the chance."

"It's Blitz now…" Garfield added, "And I would have had you not been captured."

"I could have held my own. It is not you that they want. It is what_ I_ know."

"Sorry, what _you_ know? What do you mean" Garfield asked, curious.

"Should have left," the Gambler repeated darkly, "You should have just run. It's me they want, not you, because I'm… I'm… I'm…" He growled, tugging at his fraying hair angrily, pacing about the statue in a wide circle. He began muttering to himself, no longer paying much attention to either Wolf or Garfield.

"What's his problem?" Wolf asked, leaning down to Garfield's ear. Garfield just smirked apologetically,

"In some ways he may be considered insane, but really he's not. He's just paranoid, with good reason." Again, Wolf had that same empty look about him, so Garfield explained once more, "He originally was educated as an actuary. He calculated odds and probabilities for all sorts of scenarios. But then he got greedy. He earned his millions counting cards and such in casinos before he finally went all the way and robbed one. Problem is, when you can see the odds and likelihoods of certain things happening, you begin to worry if you don't have the necessary willpower. Think about, if you could see the chances of you dying right now, wouldn't you be worried?"

"I guess… but all that's really unlikely, right?" Wolf inquired, unsure of himself. Garfield shook his head,

"Not really. Right here, right now, you could be shot by a guard, suffer a heart attack, have a stroke, get hit by lightning, been crushed by falling wall debris, impaled by glass, crushed by this statue, poisoned through toxins in the air or food and water; in other words, there are hundreds of ways you could die. The chances of all them happening alone are slim, but add them up altogether as separate and equally likely outcomes and then you have a real problem. Then think what would happen on the street in real life. The ways you could die are now doubled; you could get hit by a car, a random pedestrian could pull a gun or knife on you, you could be crushed by a tree, dashed by a falling plant pot, you could choke on some food, you could fall down a manhole, and the list goes on and on and on. Now if you could see all that and more, wouldn't you be worried?"

"So all the anxiety and tension got to him, to the point where he snapped?"

"Not snapped, per se," Garfield admitted thoughtfully, "But more of bent out of shape." Wolf chuckled with Garfield, and for once they shared a humbling moment of humour. But it didn't last for long before the Gambler interrupted them both,

"You can't stay here! You need to run! Run, run, run!" He groaned again, "I can't say! They'll kill me. But I'll sacrifice myself for you. You need to run. They don't want you. You can run. They might just let you go if you are fast enough. You need to go and just run, run, run!"

"What's the matter with you, man?" Wolf demanded, putting himself between him and Garfield, "Get a grip would you! No one's going to die, right Garfield?" Wolf looked back over his shoulder for reassurance from his young ward, but he received none. Instead, all he got was more condemnation,

"He's right. We were supposed to die… We should run. We have to get away."

"But what about finding out answers?" Wolf asked, "What about all that bravado I saw? What happened to getting to the bottom of this?"

"Fuck getting the answers, Dad!" Garfield bellowed, breaking his cool exterior, "We've barely been getting through by the skin of our teeth! That taxi explosion was meant for us as well as John Doe! The raid on where the Pilot was, that was for me! And then the explosion above the precinct was a trap set for me whilst you were going to be killed back at the laundrette! We should be dead, Wolf, and now the only thing keeping us alive is that damned phone!"

"Phone?" The Gambler chirped, "What phone? You don't need the phone. Forget the phone! Just run! You can't stay because I'm-"

Without warning, the wall to the circular room parted again, but this time opposite where the lift should have been… or was… or could have been. It was difficult to judge. Out from this new opening clack the Mistress dressed now in sultry cocktail dress. It had a single band that led up over one shoulder, whilst she bared as much skin as possible. The scent of crushed flowers and posy filled the air. Its sickly sweet stench wrinkled even the guards' noses.

"Ah, gentlemen, you're all here!" She said, mocking surprise, "If you'd like to come with me this way. No fuss now or I'll have one of my _helpful_ friends here put a bullet in the back of your head."

Obediently, they all followed the Mistress along this new corridor. It was a walkway suspended above a great drop, glass panels on all sides that gave way to the neon lit expanse below. Supports and girders held up their path like an intricate metal web. It was almost fitting that this was the web woven by Ko, his empire built upon corruption.

Doors were slid open and Wolf, Garfield and the Gambler were led into a huge office complex. The room appeared more like that of a penthouse suite, with glared white and hexagonal panels surrounding them all. Ko sat perched on the edge of his desk, examining some report of some kind whilst the Seer stood dutifully by, waiting for orders. Her expression was pained, and Garfield could clearly see the lines of worry and fear etched across her brow.

Suspended on several platforms were old motorbikes and a model plane crafted from wood. One right near the entrance appeared to be a Harley Davidson, whilst hanging above them was what looked to be a reconstruction of the Wright brothers' plane. Across the room, a line of retro arcade games stood polished but unused. Ancient posters were preserved in glass cabinets that hung from the ceiling much like the plane, and ranged throughout the years, being more specifically from the early eighties. Music bands seemed to be the more prominent subject of the posters and to fit with them was an accompanying jukebox, ready and waiting lit up with a glow of yellow, beckoning to play a tune.

"A little too western for your government, isn't it Constable Ko?" Garfield gibed, smirking as Ko bristled with annoyance,

"Since when did I ever listen to my government, little boy?" he retorted, albeit miserably. The Seer carefully concealed a smile as the Mistress sauntered her way over to Ko's side. She joined him in leaning against the desk, but his agitation made him move forwards in anger towards the three new occupants.

The Mistress followed, curling herself around his side,

"Honey, please don't get upset. He's just winding you up," She pecked him on the cheek, her voice sweet and silky as though she were taking to an dishevelled child. She turned to Garfield, "let's but the pleasantries. We're here to talk business and options, not to taunt. Do you understand?" Wolf looked to the teen, leaning into whisper,

"Don't tell me they're together like Mr E and Mrs Jones were?" Garfield chuckled quietly, but shook his head gently,

"Yes, we understand your terms. Be out with it."

"First let's discuss you Blitz and Wolf," the Mistress glanced at the Gambler, "I'll deal with you _later_."

"Why not now? Why is he here anyway? What's he done?" Garfield asked, curious. He was genuinely in the dark as to why the Gambler was there.

"Now sweetheart, curiosity killed the cat's mother as you Brits say. Keep your nose out of the business that doesn't concern you." Garfield growled,

"It's 'curiosity killed the cat', and it concerns me when Omega are involved." The room went silent. He had finally said the taboo word and burst the bubble to the topic they were all trying to avoid.

"Very well, if that's how you wish to play it Garfield," Ko said, sneering, "You are only here by an accidental default. It is not you that we want, surprisingly, and we are offering you a once only offer to leave peacefully, or we will be forced to take control of you and play you as our literal puppet."

Wolf looked shocked. They knew Garfield's real name… That was bad news; incredibly bad news.

"Don't look so surprised Tristan Alvarez. We've known about you all for quite some time. How was the little incident back home in England? I hope our little escapades didn't cause you _too_ much trouble," the Mistress cackled, flexing her hand and admiring her nails. The Seer remained silent throughout all this.

"Well, if we're going to start naming names…" Garfield took over, attempting to restore balance in their favour, "We already know who you are, Guozhi Ko. Then guessing your identity was easy from the first day I met you Lady Norma Jacobs. Tell me, how is that family disownment lawsuit going?"

"Tedious…" The Mistress said her voice caught between something of a snarl and scepticism. Garfield laughed,

"What? You didn't think I would just keep idle and bore myself to tears did you all those years? The Mistress, the woman who plays sexual favours and endeavours with that much class can only come from a higher class background. Now, let's say mummy and daddy don't give you the respect you think you deserve, so you go out of your way to make their name as disgraced as possible. What better way than to become the quintessential escort and dominatrix? But of course mummy and daddy can take legal action nowadays, can't they? All that fortune built up, they aren't going to have their reckless daughter squander it away. Now since you have such brass and confidence in yourself to actually take up the unconventional act of using your body to get what you want you therefore can only be an only child. Parents die and all their life's' earnings and savings go to you, their not-to-be-spoken-of daughter. Hence, you have to be an only child currently in a disowning lawsuit as you aren't going to go down without a fight. So, high class, only child, in a lawsuit, rarely ever spoken of; brings it down to only two candidates that I know of, but luckily for me one of whom happens to have undergone surgery to become more of the 'son' that she wishes to be. So it can only you, Lady Norma." Garfield didn't wait there,

"Then we have you, Harriet Chan. You were the easiest to realise. Highly esteemed business woman, family run company? Too obvious, I'm afraid. You've already managed to reveal far too much about yourself, and I've already explained myself to a few of the occupants in the room so there's no use in doing so again." Garfield leant back on his heels, crossing his arms with a smug satisfaction, "Now, tell me why the Gambler is so important."

"This is a waste of time," Ko hissed to Norma, "Let's just kill them and be done with it. So long as we destroy the phone it doesn't matter! Kill them and their secrets die with them!"

"Precisely the point," the Mistress shot back with a dark glaze across her eyes, "Do not order me about, little man. I am far superior to you in every way." Ko looked bashful, his eyes flicking between the Mistress and Garfield. He eventually blushed a shade of crimson and muttered a profuse apology as he bowed his head,

"Forgive me, I spoke out of line. But tell me, why do we need them alive?"

"Because they have the password to this phone," The Mistress held up Garfield's mobile. A simple flash of its screen revealed to him that she had it on the lock screen, "And the phone is the key to Britain's defences."

So there was a leak still within the secret services. Interesting… They would have to be exceedingly close to the main investigations. Was it Cartman? Could it be Silver? Or what about Smithers – they had trusted Mrs Jones, after all?

Garfield looked over at Wolf. The man had come to the same conclusion. Disappointed betrayal hung behind both their eyes.

"Perhaps you'd like to tell us the code?" Ko asked, drawing a gun on Garfield. The teen didn't even blink as the muzzle was pressed into his face. Behind him, Wolf moved to intervene, but though better of it.

"Why of course I shall!" Garfield sang, "Why didn't you just ask in the first place? Type in the letters 'u', 'm', 'a' and 'd'"

The Mistress tapped this letters in, but upon hearing the last she huffed out a growl. She glared at Garfield disapprovingly,

"Well aren't you _hilarious_…"

"Problem?" he laughed, ignoring the cold steel pressed against his face with a seething man holding the gun. His finger twitched threateningly close to the trigger. "Okay here's the deal; I can make one call and then I shall give you the code to the phone so long as you let me and Wolf go. Agreed?"

"Agreed," the Mistress answered without missing a beat. Carelessly, she chucked the phone over to Garfield who caught it expertly. He, away from the sneaking gaze of those around him, entered in the correct password.

He instantly dashed through the phone's menus and went to his contacts, where he selected the number he wished to dial. He made the call, and brought the phone to his ear careful to avoid the gun.

_Meanwhile – Location: London, England_

Alex was filling in his homework that had been shovelled onto him since his returned to the reinstated Brooklands. An English assignment, writing an essay about the use of poetic techniques within an unseen poem; Alex detested poetry. It never made much sense. For him, everything had to be clean cut and made black and white for him. Everything else required personal opinion, and that had been obliterated by his spying work. The television was playing on a low volume in the background on a news channel, and Ben was sitting at in the kitchen sipping coffee whilst watching. Beneath him were piles of forms he had to complete for Alex's adoption. This was the third time of having to fill them in. According to the city council the first lot had been lost in a tragic mishap with the new sorting system; the second had been human error. Ben didn't care though. So long as they were filled in at the end of the day and sent off he couldn't care less. Alex would be with him and that's all that mattered at the end of it all.

"… _The Russian elections are slowly gaining popular interest in global news as protestors begin a strike in aid of one of the candidates. This marks the beginning of what could be the most publicly fought campaigns. After the recent scandal upon the current President's behalf, the voters are looking for a dramatic change in leadership. We'll have more on this as the week progresses, so stay tuned…"_

"Everyone's practically forgotten about us," Alex commented casually, turning the page, "It's seems Omega's old news."

"That's good isn't it?" Ben responded half-heartedly, "We want to forget about them and get on with piecing our family back together. The less we hear about them the better, right?"

"The less we hear the less we don't know. They could still be out there, you know."

"But what's the likelihood of that?" Ben joked, "We killed off two of their directors, uncovered Britain's greatest conspiracy and stopped their plot to destroy the government. How could anyone recover from that?"

"You'd be surprised…" Alex muttered under his breath, but sighed heavily when reading the next verse – or stanza, as so he had been told – of the poem, "Do you know what this means?" He held the sheet up for Ben to see. The man walked over from his perch at the kitchen. Admiring it with a critical eye, he huffed himself, both of them unsure,

"No idea… If only Garfield was here. He'd be the best person to ask."

"Well he's still missing, isn't he, so that's out of the question…" Alex thought for a moment, "Is there still no word on him?" He looked up at Ben, but the man's expression was closed off. A month had passed and still they knew nothing. Ben's head shook solemnly,

"He's just vanished. One minute he's going to Buenos Aires, the next moment he's dashed onto a plane heading for Shanghai and then we lost track. The Chinese government is being uncooperative and neither he nor Wolf has made contact."

A tense moment of silence passed between them. Wolf and Garfield were a taboo subject in the household. It was hard to discern them between traitors or fugitives. On the one hand they so far hadn't done anything wrong, but then again on the other they hadn't explained why they had left. Ben was angry at Wolf, and Alex was pissed at Garfield. In a sense, it was a mutual despise against the soldier and technician. Surely Alex was the most trustworthy friend Garfield had? Why wouldn't he just send a text or call or… or… or something to let him know _anything_?

"Or I could just ask Ella? She loves to help with my homework!" Alex said, briskly diverting the subject so the silence would be broken and normal life could resume. The effect was spontaneous, like pressing play on a paused film. Ben suddenly became animated again, and the emotion returned to Alex's face, his mask once more back in place.

"Sure…" Ben drawled, "She helps you with homework… That's your excuse…"

"She does!" Alex protested, huffing in indignation, "Sometimes we talk and then it just leads to stuff!"

"Like eating each other's faces?" Ben teased, sticking out his tongue and winking. Alex threw one of the cushions at Ben, but missed as he ducked out of the door.

"Get back here you coward!" Alex bellowed, "Show yourself! Have you no honour?"

"You're fighting with cushions… Since when was there honour in fighting with feather filled fabric bags?" Ben called, dodging another expertly aimed cushion from Alex. He ran back into the living room as Alex tried to follow him into the hall. Arming himself, he chucked a pillow at Alex, smacking him square in the face. He smothered an obnoxious laugh, but the damage had already been done. The look on Alex's face looked as though it could kill. Ben found himself retreating carefully back across the living room as Alex casually, but delicately, picked up the cushion nearest to him. This one was huge, twice as big as the others. This could never miss.

"Now, now Alex," Ben tried to reason with the boy. He held out his hands in surrender, "Let's not doing anything brash that you may come to regret."

"Regret?" Alex laughed manically, "Oh I would never regret doing this!"

He threw the cushion as hard as he could point blank at Ben. The soldier, in good sporting fashion, clutched the cushion against his chest, making sure to stick some just under his arm. He collapsed back into the sofa,

"Oh, argh, ah!" He feigned injury, contorting his face into dramatic displays of pain and agony, "How could you?" A thought came to him, "I suppose I should tell you now…"

"Tell me what?" Alex said sceptically as he stood over Ben. He was frowning, and so Ben went in for the kill,

"That I am…" He grabbed Alex's shirt and pulled him down with him till they were both on the floor in an exhausted heap, papers strewn everywhere and the furniture a mess, "… your father!"

They laughed together for what seemed to be a long while, enjoying the ironic comedy of the moment. Soon though they were even more out of breath than before; Alex picked himself up first, heaving with great sighs of strength as his joints ached,

"Maybe in bond and relationship," he said, helping Ben to his feet, "But not yet legally – or officially."

"Yeah, but we're gonna change all that right?" Ben said, his accent coming off thick as it always did. Alex loved that, it added a touch of uniqueness to him that he couldn't with anyone else he knew. Nor did he mind the Liverpudlian accent. "Soon the papers will be complete and pushed through and _then_ it'll be official."

Ben, on a spur of the moment, pulled Alex into a fatherly hug. At that moment, it just felt right. He was more surprised when Alex hugged back, wrapping his arms around the barrel of a torso. Ben could feel the sinewy muscle beneath Alex. The incident with Omega had certainly taken a lot out of them both. Perhaps they would need to start jogging again… or going to the gym?

Alex breathed in Ben's scent. Oddly enough, he smelt of them both. The whole house did now. This was his new home. This was where he belonged and he would do nothing to change it. For once, everything was perfect and calm.

That was until his phone began to ring and somebody knocked at the door.

The pair of them quickly broke the hug, flustering about in bashful embarrassment.

"I should probably get-"

"I got to take this-"

And so they moved away from one another, both blushing at having been caught in the moment. Alex dug out his phone from the mess of cushions and papers whilst Ben went to get the door.

Alex answered, and then held the phone to his ear. Four words were uttered and then the line went dead. Alex held the phone numbly, his grip loose, his complexion unsure. Those four words were terrible… They could only mean one thing…

Ben came back into the living room with a grim expression, but he then he saw Alex and the anxiety increased twofold.

"Who was at the door?" Alex asked curtly, snapping the phone shut and slipping it back into his pocket. Ben shook himself out of the daze,

"Silver's aide… He says he wants a meeting between you, him and Cartman – just the three of you at the Clock-tower. He says he could have called but circumstances prohibited him not to. Should I tell him to go away?"

"Tell him to piss off," Alex said darkly, "We have other things to do. Order a total information blackout; nothing goes in or out of MI6 and MI5. Everything will from now on be on a need-to-know basis, and everyone is to keep on guard for leaks of data. Do you understand?"

"I… guess so…? What's going on?" Ben spluttered, shocked by Alex's drastic turn of mood. "Who was on the phone?"

"Do you understand? Will you do it?" Alex repeated, this time with more force. Ben nodded, but his head was a-spin with hectic thoughts and shadowed doubts.

"Alex… Tell me, what's wrong? What is it?"

Alex looked to Ben with sad, almost apologetic eyes. He knew deep down in his heart that it wasn't over. He had wished it had been, even to the point of dismissal and delusion. But know he couldn't ignore it.

"_Midnight on the Thames_," Alex mumbled, repeating the same four words that brought darkness over them all.

_Meanwhile – Location: Hong Kong, China_

"Midnight on the Thames," Garfield spoke into the phone before he abruptly hung up, and slid the phone into his pocket. Without losing the advantage of surprise, he lashed out with a hand and batted away Ko's gun, making a grab for his lapel. His right leg moved with the same slick precision, and hooked in between the man's legs. Now with his free left hand, Garfield swiped at the pistol, grabbing the barrel as he pulled his leg to the right, heaving the lapel to the left. The effect was as predicted; Ko fell to the ground whilst Garfield stayed upright, now with a gun in his hand. Not wasting time he swung his left hand back as Ko was recuperating on his knees, and slammed the handle of the gun across his temple as hard as he could. The resulting crack was loud enough in the whole room, and Garfield inwardly smiled with satisfaction at his clean takedown.

He glanced up to the awed and shocked faces. With yet more skilled talent and flicked the gun into the air and caught it perfectly with his right hand, snapping it round to aim at the Mistress.

"Nobody moves or I blow a hole in her head."

"I'd love to see you try," she hissed, reaching into her cleavage and bringing out the smallest handgun Garfield had ever seen. She aimed it at Wolf, who, in the stupor of the moment, had left himself neither guarded nor alert. The Mistress mad e a snatch for him, and held the muzzle flush with his cheek. She hurled his body in front of her own.

"Lower your weapon or _I_ blow a hole in _his_ head."

"You can't, otherwise I will never help you."

"I don't need your help," she corrected, "It is merely a coincidental advantage." She was right. The only thing that had kept them alive before was the promise of control over Britain's secret service. Now, if the phone was in Garfield's possession and he had the chance to escape then she would no longer be interested. Now he was a liability to their goal, which had something to do with the Gambler. Garfield couldn't take the risk, nor could he shoot the Mistress. He had good aim, and was an excellent marksman, but this shot was near impossible.

"What do you want with the Gambler?" Garfield tried.

"Lower your weapon."

"You need us!" But once more,

"Lower your weapon."

"Why are you doing this?"

A terse silence followed. The Mistress smiled as she always did, with that all-knowing grimace which Garfield had grown to loathe. She began to laugh, quietly at first until it slowly built up into a raucous cackle. It grated on everyone's ears, and Garfield began to wonder if all female Omega directors were secretly old hags underneath their fake layers of personality and life.

Reluctantly Garfield extracted the phone back out from his pocket and tossed it back over to the Mistress, making sure not to lose his sights. She caught it deftly, and instantly let Wolf go.

"Why thank you dear, how kind of you!"

"What? Why did you give her back the phone?" Wolf exclaimed, "You should have run while you had the chance!"

"The phone is the only thing keeping us, and now you alive. I'm still going to run, but I'm going to come back for you." Garfield stated with determination. His voice had real meaning to it, and his face was set in stone.

"Aw, would you look at that? The little orphan is getting feelings for his pretend-daddy," the Mistress mocked, scrunching up her face like a petty child. Wolf was quick enough to deliver a fast slap to her face. The act itself was so unexpected that at first she didn't react, just simply stood there stupidly while it registered what Wolf had done.

"He's my son – don't you dare say he's anything _but_ that." Wolf had a firm tone to him, every word punctuated and solid as the last. The Mistress took a pot shot at him in retaliation, but he knocked her gun off aim, and the angle shattered a pane of glass higher up the room. Shards of glass rained down and toppled down the side, away from everyone.

"That wasn't a proper attempt to hurt you. Next time, it'll be aimed at your spine," she threatened dangerously, her voice taking on a vicious quality.

During this venomous parry between the Mistress and Wolf, Garfield edged towards the desk. Neither the Gambler nor the Seer said anything, both just standing there quietly. Briefly, Garfield and the Seer made eye contact, and the teen kept his gaze as hard and as level as possible. He knew what he had to do, and he knew how to do it. Perhaps in some respect she knew too, and bristled slightly underneath his stare. Her eyes flicked to a small drawer on Ko's desk, and Garfield slinked towards it.

Now Ko was an organised person, he preferred routine and order than to casual chaos. He was also a fan of retro and vintage, but all in working order. Things had to be functional or they would be pointless and less rare. That Harley Davidson must have been brought in after the construction, otherwise government officials would never have allowed it. In this were true, then that means the motorbike could fit down the corridor they had just come along. The only problem now was that the door was sealed shut. If Garfield could time it right he could steal the motorbike, make a quick getaway through the corridor, but only if by pure chance someone opened the door.

Garfield slid the door carefully open, and rummaged around to find the set of keys he was looking for. A small remote sat on top of the desk, and Garfield pondered its purpose. He translated the writing on the buttons, and deciphered the symbols with common sense. He slipped the remote and the keys into his pocket, and moved away from the desk swiftly as the Mistress regained her attention in him.

"Now brat, lower your weapon."

"Try and catch me," Garfield said with an added sly smirk. He fired several shots in her direction, but they were all random aims and so the bullets splintered the panes around her. But the desired result was the still the same; the Mistress ducked for cover, crossing her forearms over her face and blocking her vision.

Garfield ran across the room and leapt up onto the platform with the Harley Davidson. He swung his leg over and settled into the seat, inserting the keys into the ignition. The bike roared momentarily before becoming a loud purr. The Mistress realised her mistake, and immediately began to take aim with the miniature gun at Garfield. Her aim was, astonishingly, terrible, and the teen assumed it to be because of her choice of weapon. The fires missed him by metres, and so he clicked a button on the remote for what he supposed to be the door. Luck was on his side, and the doors parted leading down the glass walkway and then into the tower.

Garfield revved the engine, and the noise was deafening. The tyres screeched and gained their grip and shot forwards. The bike launched into the air before crashing down into the ground. Garfield swerved the bike so it skidded to a stop, horizontal to the door and the room.

"I'll be back for you," he said to Wolf, "And let that be your _only_ warning."

The engine screamed again, and the exhaust flooded smoke into the room making the Mistress cough and her eyes water as she tried to stop him.

Garfield felt the wind rush past him as the bike picked up speed. He kept a close eye on the speedometer, and checked the fuel gauge. It was lucky that the tank was still full after all this time. He might have assumed the bike would be empty and his cunning improvised plan would have fallen flat right then and there.

The windows and lights sped past, and shots rang out not just from behind him but also from in front. Sparks erupted all around him, and Garfield lowered his body so that he was more hidden by the bike itself. Amongst the riot that Garfield had caused he heard shouts and orders being barked.

Then the doors at the opposite end of the corridor began to close.

Not wanting to be beaten, Garfield rammed the throttle as much as it would go, urging the bike to go faster. The doors were only just open, sliding shut more by the minute. It would be a close call, and Garfield shut his eyes as the bike tore through the doors. The wing mirrors were torn clean off, but the bike was intact relatively.

But the bike was still going at high speeds, and the guard s were attempting to mass on Garfield. So, in a bid of escape, Garfield swerved the bike once more and drove it at an angle up the wall. If his physics calculations were correct, and the wall evenly smooth and in a perfect circle, the centripetal force should keep him from falling if he kept going fast enough.

The guard all looked astounded as the bike climbed higher and higher up the wall, defying what was possible. But even so, Garfield knew he wouldn't be able to drive all the way up to the top. At some point, gravity would be a bitch and he would begin the disastrous fall back down. He just had to get high enough. The dome was within sight, so much so he could just reach up and grab it.

Then, with a sudden lurching moment, the tyres lost their grip. The bike suddenly swung back down, the back end dragging the whole bike down. Garfield knew it was now or never, and kicked up off the seat and lunged at the dome.

His hands nearly missed, but Garfield latched onto a single bar running across the window that acted as a frame. It took his weight, and he could only watch helpless as the bike fell down and down, crashing and slamming against the walls and bursting into pieces. Ko would certainly be pissed when he finds out.

The bike fell down and the whole tower became enveloped in a giant explosion as it crashed into the statue. Whether or not that was helped along by any Omega agents or not, Garfield didn't care. Instead he fired a shot off at the window so that it smashed and pulled himself through it. He didn't stop there, picking himself up and sprinting away as the fireball blew the dome into a thousand pieces. Sulphur and fumes choked the air, and Garfield was thrown backwards by the sheer force of the blast. He could feel the heat searing at his back, and he kept low until he considered it safe.

He consulted the explosion's damage, looking over as the charred drop lead down into the carnage the bike had caused. But Garfield couldn't stay for long. The sound of approaching helicopters and the march of footsteps from the stairwells meant he couldn't hang around. With a last look in the direction he supposed Wolf was, he ran off across the rooftops, leaping from roof to roof. He'd be back; he'd promised.

**Sorry this was so late. Revision for upcoming exams is laborious. **

**Reviews are much appreciated. I decided to have a particularly long chapter, and to include Alex at the request of Getsumen Kage no Mai, so I hope that doesn't go unnoticed… *hint hint* XD**

**We've just passed the halfway point, so if you all just bear with me I shall deliver :D**

**I would say more, but I'm tired and have a pounding headache. Plus I can't remember what needs to be said. Anyways…**

**Thanks – K9**


	7. Midnight

**GREETINGS! **

**So, I was thinking one morning, 'Hey, I'm alive. Why don't I publish something?'**

**And you were maybe like 'OMG THANK YOU' or 'Piss off, why do you bother?'**

**But oh well, regardless, here I be, back from the dead finally with the finished Chapter 7. Sorry it's been so long, but I've been caught up with family matters, exams (which are going absolutely awfully, by the way) and other such trivial nuisances. **

**My apologies to all who've waited so long, and welcome those who are just joining. **

**In response (finally) to reviews:**

**Dani9513: I'm glad it did, hope to see you again.**

**2whitie: Gotta love those references to pop culture XD**

**Owltalon: Indeed, a very long holiday .  
>Sorry for the lateness. I hope to see you again but thanks for the review!<strong>

**Getsumen Kage no Mai: I have no idea; I just know there's a term for the 'perfect' character. Yes, that's water-boarding in the style of Garfield's mind. There's a tad more of Alex for now, but probably no more from now on. Hope to see you again, thanks for reviewing!**

**Previously in the Viking Insurgence:**

**We now see that Ko is working with the directors of Omega, going against his triad controllers and helping them in shutting them down. Garfield and Wolf were caught within the system, both having been tortured for just under a month.**

**Now, with Alex in on the game with 'Midnight of the Thames' and Garfield on the run, what will happen next; will Wolf survive? Will both of them escape China with their lives? **

**Chapter 7: Midnight**

Garfield pressed on forwards, ignoring the urge to cower into a foetal position. The water frightened him now. He could barely stand being so close to it.

It was deafening the roar of the water bounced off the sewer walls all around the teen. Pipes led from one to another forming an intricate system that stopped most of the city from turning into a cesspool. It was impressive, compared to more simplistic ones Garfield had had to navigate in his time. But a sewer was a sewer, and they always offered him a back passage in whatever establishment he deemed fit.

Once you got past the smell, the filth and the endless darkness, they weren't so bad.

The teen trudged along the obscenely thin walkway that ran along a flowing stream of waste water. He kept his sights set dead ahead, refusing to look down at whatever untold horrors had lurched from the drains above. Armed to the teeth, he needed to keep his guts in piece if he were to successfully carry out his mission tonight. It had been a slapdash approach, cobbling together whichever useful resources he could in a bid to stage a last rescue attempt. He doubted he'd get another shot. If Omega were relentless as ever, they wouldn't pass up an opportunity like his phone as a trump card; they'd tear Wolf to pieces just to get that code he supposedly knew.

Garfield sighed. He was supposed to know. It was obvious. But yet the man couldn't even see it. Shaking his head, he trekked on.

The sewer tunnel eventually opened up into a giant chasm, a cavernous column that led upwards and down. These were the infamous storm drains, where typhoons could be dealt with, where excess rainwater from storms would go. The near perfect circular drain was incredibly wide across the diameter, and he judged that one could probably fit a bus down here if one were to try… Or a helicopter; Garfield shivered at the thought. He wouldn't like that at all.

A gangway encircled the outside of the column, and had rungs that resembled ladders allowing those who ventured this far to climb up or down. Garfield made his way to them, testing their strength. Whilst they were slimy, cold and frighteningly small, they seemed durable enough to take his weight. With no safety equipment or anybody standing nearby to help him it was a perilous task. But there wasn't much choice. He certainly couldn't return back the way he came: police officers were prowling the streets for him, about as common as the alley cats that slunk in the shadows. They too were prepared for a fight, and even the teen technician knew it would only end in a bitter struggle. His best bet was to run and defend. Attacking was out of the question.

Onwards he pressed.

Cautiously, Garfield scaled each rung one foot at a time, then one hand at a time. He'd pace himself, going at a speed only he would be comfortable with. He was losing precious seconds, but he was no use plummeting to his death. Be the turtle and not the hare.

For what seemed like hours, Garfield climbed upwards. His arms ached, his legs burned and his chest heaved with the exertion. Soon, the gangway, the other pipes, everything else just faded away and the teen was just left clinging to the wall in absolute darkness. Obviously lights weren't needed down here. What kind of engineering idiot would put lights in a sewer? Well, Garfield hoped that perhaps this one would be, as any light would be a reprieve right now.

More and more, higher and higher he climbed, his rhythm set. Dull thoughts of irrelevance crossed his mind like what time had it been since he last ate, or when his coursework was due to be handed in. His mouth savoured and his brain cringed. Such novelties of normal life had seemed so appealing, so tempting to Garfield. But he knew, with hollow realisation that he may never get what he wants. Alex had been the closest to try, almost succeeding at one point if it weren't for Omega, but it was always inevitable. Once espionage claimed you it made sure to leave its mark forever, even if it was only a scar. Like Sabina Pleasure, or Tom Harris. Both had been burnt, and both had paid the price. Heavily.

Starlight began to dot about an opening in the dark yawn above Garfield. Slowly, moonlight joined the parade and before the teen knew it the whole sky was lit in a spectrum of light, the underlying tone of the city, the spatter of stars and then the centrepiece of the moon. He exhaled a sigh of relief, thankful to be finally out of the infernal sewers. Sniffing himself, he made a mental note to wash repeatedly once he had the time.

His destination loomed up just a few blocks down. It wasn't one of the more ostentatious buildings, but it did tower with the same impressive might that you'd associate with money and power. It was a clever disguise; hide in plain sight. Don't be too loud, don't be too quiet, caught perfectly in the middle – the quintessential average.

All Garfield had to do was find a point of entrance. He had wanted to just do a quick sneak under it through the sewers, but the piping, security and effort involved would have been a waste of time. The front doors were naturally taken out of the equation, as were the windows. The only safe bet was the roof, or something of that nature. Maybe there was a balcony with a side door attached to it? Garfield could only hope…

He slipped across the facility's grounds and out the entrance, the poor guard fast asleep. His job must be so thrilling, to guard the city's crap quite literally. Garfield still kept quiet though as he went by, careful so as to not rouse him. A stupid mistake now and he'd be rushed.

The road wasn't that busy. Few people walked the streets at night for obvious reasons, but Garfield had been expecting a bit more activity. He wasn't disappointed, merely surprised. However, whilst it meant his exposure would be kept to a minimum in the public, it also meant he would stick out on the streets. Especially smelling like _this_. He had no choice though. Wolf needed him, and Garfield needed answers and information first. He was sick and tired of running around like a headless chicken thinking he held all the cards.

Garfield broke from his cover, walking along the street with his collar pulled up and his head hung low. Avoid suspicion or avoid detection. Another catch twenty-two; Garfield always went for avoiding detection. Even if he looked suspicious, without being noticed he could do so much more damage if he liked.

He paused in his thoughts, continuing to walk along the street. If anyone were to look at him they wouldn't suspect he was currently going into overload thinking. But he was. He had a problem. This was what Omega wanted, surely? They wanted him to act just as how they predict. They want him as their puppet. With each passing day here he was becoming more and more like the person he had escaped all that time ago. Sure, he had a new name now, a new identity and motives to fight for, but he was still the same person underneath. People _never_ change, only their perspectives do. And it all depends on people's perspectives. Perspective gives purpose, it gives knowledge and it gives awareness. Controlling someone's perspectives meant controlling them as a person. That was Omega's game plan. It had to be. Both for him and Alex and everyone is this damn game of theirs.

How can you fight against something that's already been won?

Garfield came to the alley he was looking for. He pushed the dark, grim thoughts aside and focused back on the task in hand. A fire escape would lead him up to the top of this building, and from there he could work his way up. Around these parts the city was built on top of its own remains, so they just kept piling up and up. It made for perfect parkour.

The teen dashed up the rickety stairs as fast as he could, keeping as quiet as he could as well. There were a few shouts in complaints, but they were lost over the din of the city. Garfield supposed he should be thankful that any mistakes here could mean his plan can still go ahead, but his mind was on matters far more important. He needed to have his schedule down to the second. Any compromise could endanger not only his welfare but Wolf's survival. He would be on the clock the instant he set foot inside the building. No… the instant he was seen approaching and he would be on the clock. Problem was, Garfield had no way of gauging when that was. It meant he had to limit himself already. Precious seconds cut away.

He got to the rooftop and scanned his surroundings. He could a definite path all the way round to the building and in a country such as this, air conditioning has to be a must. And if there was air conditioning, then there had to be vents. All Garfield had to do was find a feasible one as his point of entrance.

With his new plan set, Garfield set off, jogging at first before building up into a sprinting pace. The teen allowed himself to slip back into his blank mind-set, allowing himself to see everything and build his path. He tucked, rolled, dived, jumped, vaulted; he forgot his troubles and allowed himself to enjoy what he had so dearly missed from his old days.

He climbed up the criss-crosses of the scaffolding bars on a nearby building. There he had a better chance of making the jump across the street. Running at a sprint, he leapt high as his momentum carried him forwards and onto the next rooftop. He tucked and rolled, softening the impact. It was like riding a bike.

His intended target came near, and Garfield put on a burst of speed. He kicked out at the railing that ran around the entirety of the edge, vaulting on them and sailing through the air. The wall rushed to meet him, the deep black reflecting the city lights and his own form. He grappled to the ledge, hitting it with a thud. One hand slipped. With all his weight suddenly held up by his remaining hand, his whole body swung uselessly below him as he fought to keep his grip. Forced to look down, he suddenly realised how high up he was. He'd forgotten _that _part.

Not that it bothered him of course – it was an occupational hazard.

Groaning in pain, he swung his hand back up to grab the ledge. He risked a look down again, spying the obtruding vent that ran across the building's side. It was that far a drop down. Bracing himself, he swiftly let go of the ledge and dropped the final few feet. He crashed loudly into the metal, but Garfield doubted anyone had heard him. Still, out of habit he glanced around. Nobody had raised the alarm yet; so far, so good.

Garfield laid himself level with the wall, running along it till he came to what he was looking for. A grill led his way into the vent. Drawing his torch from is belt, Garfield hammered with it at the grill, ramming it until it clattered inwards under the pressure. The torch beam flickered on, and the teen slipped inside, crouching low until he could half walk, half crawl through the venting system. He edged the first few feet forwards, instantly coming to a turn. Light was coming from grills underneath him, but he kept going on.

His light seemed a tad redundant as the shaft was well lit from below, a soft glow. But still, Garfield kept his torch on and casting his path forwards. He never trusted anything but his own light. Light can play tricks on someone. _Anything_ could really. His torture had proved that much.

Suddenly, the banter of voices caused him to stop and be deadly still. His hand clasped over the torch's lens. There was a grill directly below where he was. There were guards right there!

_Shit!_

Forced to stay perfectly motionless,

His breathing slowed as he listened carefully,

"You hear about them damn protestors?" One guy drawls, kicking wiping something off what Garfield assumed to be a rifle judging by the shape and size. It was too dark to tell what make though, and too dark to be certain if it even _was_ a rifle at all. What he did notice though was that they were speaking in English. Odd.

"Those Russians?" His comrade chuckled, "Man, I don't see why everyone's so bloody fixated by this election. What's the point? All they're doing is picking a new President to screw them over just like every country does with their leaders. Like the UK for example. Need I say more?" Again, another English-speaking guard; it was very strange. Surely they were Chinese guards? The darkness made it impossible to see any further than the dim light. Finding out was out of the question.

Eventually, they moved on and Garfield breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He crawled along further, lifting himself into the next shaft above and went right. He counted two grills inwards before he heard more voices. The same principle applied; he covered his torch, slowed his breathing and kept still.

"Ms Chan, I have your correspondent in Germany on the phone. He's asking if you wish to order any more batches of Amnicon from Dr Baranovsky." Garfield didn't recognise this woman nor anything she had mentioned. That name sounded familiar though. He wasn't sure… but what he certainly recognised was the distraught form of Harriet Chan, the Seer, sitting at her desk.

"Tell him to order what he thinks is necessary. I don't want to deal with that right now." She tossed back some pill, glugging at a glass of water on her desk. She sighed, "Maybe two dozen more. I have no idea; that's not my area."

"Very good Ms Chan." The woman left, leaving the Seer on her own in the office. Now was the perfect time to strike. Garfield switched off the torch and slipped it into his belt, taking his Berettas from their holsters and making sure they were loaded. Counting to three in his head, he prepared for his sudden dramatic entrance.

He slammed the guns down on the grill, the metal breaking away and he falling with it. Garfield landed squarely on his feet, springing his legs to counteract the impact. The Seer suddenly looked up, alarmed, and reached for her phone immediately,

"Go on!" Garfield hissed, taking aim before she even had chance to press a single button, "Call them. _I dare you_! Call your dogs and I'll put a bullet through your head." Harriet withdrew her hand, but made no move away from her desk. She appraised Garfield,

"You wouldn't do that, not for the reason why you're here," She sighed, "Besides, I wasn't planning on doing that anyway. It's about time you and I had a chat."

"So you're dropping the secrets and lies now?" Garfield mocked, his hand shuffling the pistol in his hand to a more comfortable position. "How can I trust you?"

"Because, believe it or not, I'm still on your side," the Seer said sullenly. Her tone made Garfield falter for a second.

_Was she really telling the truth? She showed all the signs of it. _

_Could he trust her? All he needed was information and then he'd be out of there. _

His guard came back up,

"Why should I trust you? You're on Omega's side!" The question itself was an empty hope, but he still had to ask. He had to see what her excuse was.

"You want to know where Wolf is, don't you?" The statement caught Garfield off again. He had sworn to come back for Wolf, but surely the phone was more important than that. Surely the _Gambler_ was more important than that?

"What makes you say that?" The teen demanded, edging closer with the gun still outstretched and aimed directly at her. His trigger finger twitched.

"I've seen the way you to talk with each other. The way you interact; his rather emphatic declaration when the Mistress insulted you was enough to show that. You even made it clear yourself that you'd be pissed if any hurt him." Garfield glared at Harriet speechless. He cocked the guns safety catch. The sound resonated in the silent office. It served as the teen's only answer, "But of course, what do I know." The Seer laughed nervously, leaning back in her chair.

There was a brief moment of silence. Nobody said anything, Garfield assessing the situation in his head. He had expected to come this far, but the Seer's defeatist stance had thrown him a bit. He'd better get back on track,

"Well go on then; where's Wolf?" He smirked, "And don't say I don't know or else I'll kill you." Harriet stared levelly at him,

"I don't know," she deadpanned. Garfield sighed, his gun-arm falling to his side. He shook his head, laughing slightly,

"Shame." He raised the gun again, and was about to fire.

"Wait!" The Seer all but yelled, "I really don't know!"

"Of course you don't. Your fellow Omega friends are keeping you out of the loop for the special occasion today, aren't they?"

"They aren't my friends!" The Seer shouted, "They never were, and they never will be! I hate them!" The silence again returned. Slowly, Garfield lowered the handgun again, the slightest tinge of confusion on his face. Harriet gave a frustrated sigh, "You think you have us all figured out, don't you? But of course, you're the great Orphan! You know everything! If you could read people like books I bet you think Omega's the equivalent of a pamphlet! You're so obsessed with this rudimentary belief that Omega is solely the bad guys and that you're doing everyone a favour by killing us all." She slammed her hand on the desk, "I thought you were better than that, damn it!" Abruptly, she stood up, causing Garfield to react quickly and bring the gun back up. Harriet barely seemed to notice as she went over to the window and looked out onto the city below. "I thought you would have realised by now…"

Garfield raised an eyebrow, not that she saw. Inside his head he was going over all the information available. He had to find the fault, find the trace that would explain everything to him. He just had to think:  
><em>'I'm sorry' – Letter sent to him by the Seer. Most key important phrase that didn't fit. An apology for what? Could it suggest an underlying connection with Omega?<br>Creased suit from first encounter – Perhaps not a suggestion of stress for 'her dead lover'. Maybe the Seer is under stress from a different source.  
>Emotional involvement with the Pilot – Potentially untrue… Had only been a theory at best. The Mistress had agreed. New theory: both the Mistress and the Seer had pretended the relationship theory to be true in order to get me off the scent.<br>The Seer had escaped the raid at the crime scene – She has the potential to be working with Omega.  
>Disinterest when rescuing the Gambler – She wanted nothing more to do with it, even suggesting that I should flee the country. A warning was given then.<br>During the confrontation between Ko and the Mistress, the Seer had looked uncomfortable – Theory: she did not wish to be there. She did not want me to be there._

_The Seer had laid out several clues that she was with Omega. _

_Several clues had suggested to the Mistress's involvement with Omega._

_But then why was the Seer acting so sympathetic towards me?_

"You want to… _defect_?" Garfield said quietly under his own breath at first, before speaking louder, "You're not like the others!"

"Finally!" Harriet exclaimed, "He finally gets it!" She turned around from the window, "And by saying that you and I have sealed my doom. No matter. I was dead when they first approached me."

"What happened?" Garfield asked. It was a tangent, but he had to know. This was impossible.

"The Mistress suddenly turns up out of the blue asking to join her cause; to sign up with Omega. At first I outright refused. They're a bunch of lunatics. But then I was pressured more and more until I gave in. All my family's business, our finances and land; all of it suddenly became the property of Omega to do with as they pleased. That's when I started to notice the city was changing. Gangs and triads were acting strangely. Something was pushing them all inwards into a small spot. It made them act like wild dogs. They viciously turned on each other, street wars breaking out over the city. Whilst I wasn't as well informed as some operatives – I think I was more of an asset rather than an agent – I heard rumours of it being Omega's doing. My suspicions were confirmed when the Mistress approached me a second time requesting I call the Pilot. I had no idea why, but I did as I was told for fear of being killed." Harriet sighed, "I set a rendezvous, made the arrangements and thought nothing more about it until the Mistress showed up for the third and final time, the Pilot dead. You know the rest. I arranged a second meeting with everyone else and then attempted to abandon ship and leave the country. But Omega's everywhere, and the Mistress and Ko caught up with me. I was roped into yours and Wolf's interrogations. When you escaped I was dismissed back to my regular duties and I have heard nothing since." She sat back down in her chair, "I feel as though everything's connected, but I don't know how. I just can't see why this all links up." She placed both her hands on the desk palms down, leaning towards Garfield, "That's where you come in. You can piece it all together. You can make sense of what is happening and do what you've done before; put a stop to it. Will you do that, for me? This country had been free at first of Omega's control, but now they've made it sour and killed the core of its people. Please, put an end to Omega desecrating my homeland."

Garfield kept the gun raised,

"Do you know where Wolf is or not?" he queried plainly, obviously making no attempt to make a promise. Harriet huffed,

"All you can think about is _one man_ over an _entire country_?"

"That one man is my father. Where is he?" Garfield made a single shot, into the window. It cracked and splintered before the shards fell outward and tumbled down. The bang shook through the room, startling the Seer. Garfield aimed the gun back at her, "I'll count to three." He was running out of time. Already he swore he could hear running footsteps.

"I don't know!" The Seer shouted again, "I would tell you if I knew, but I don't! All I know is that after your escape they knew you'd come back for him, sentimental fool as you are, and so prepared to move him so they could use him as bait or a hostage against you."

"Move where?"

"I DON'T KNOW!" Guards burst in through the door, but Garfield didn't flinch. He didn't move a muscle. So long as his handgun had ammunition then he had the upper hand. He decided to go for a different tactic,

"Is the phone with Wolf?" It seemed logical; Wolf would be there only access to the phone. He had the password somewhere in his mind (at least, Garfield had thought so. Now he wasn't so sure). Keep the phone with Wolf on the off chance he 'remembers' the password.

"I don't know…" Harriet paused, reaching for the phone, "But I can find out." She dialled an unseen number, not picking up the receiver and allowing the call to be played aloud. There was a single dial before someone answered,

"What do you want Chan?" the voice of Ko snapped, "We contact you, not the other way around."

"Yes, I know, but I think I may have something," She looked at Garfield. The teen's gut dropped. Shit. "I think I know a way to get that soldier to tell us the password. Is he with you?" Garfield breathed again, the dread passing.

"Yes, we're transferring right now. What is it?"

"You need to give the soldier Garfield's phone. I can take it from there." Both Harriet and Garfield waited for Ko's response. This would reveal if the phone was with Wolf or not. What the teen couldn't understand though was why she was helping him.

"Yes, alright. He has the phone, now what?" Harriet allowed herself a smile, Garfield's corner of his lip twitching. Wolf was okay, and the phone was with him. "Hello? Chan?" He hung up, probably realising the fact he had been duped. The smile on her face changed from one of victory to one of sadness,

"This is where we part ways. I'm sorry Garfield." Garfield glanced behind him, noticing the guards hadn't yet pulled a gun on him. It was _very_ suspicious, and he did not like it one bit. The sound of blades thumped in the distance, becoming ever louder,

"So you're going to kill me now?" Garfield asked, pistol still in hand. Harriet shook her head,

"I was hoping that you'd actually mind killing me instead." The statement once again pulled Garfield off balance. What did she mean?

"You've probably noticed by now the men I've got stationed her aren't Chinese. They're European, chiefly British. They were drafted in by a guy I know. He said he could help me, but he's too late now. He was with some kind of Alpha Initiative. But I have a final gift to you – a sort of goodbye and good luck present, if you will, as well as an apology for the grief I've caused you." She stood up again, "You see I knew you were coming. I was the outsider of the closely knit group. You could easily access my offices more than the Mistress or Ko; I was the weak link in the chain. So I'm offering you the chance to put an end to this and take them down for me. I'm a dead woman now, but I can still make one last act of defiance." The helicopter swung into view, veering near to the smashed window. The air inside was whipped up into a frenzy. "I've been injected with the Incendiary Particle. They'll order my execution the instant they find out I've betrayed them. But I don't want to die at their hands. I'd rather die at my friends'." She offered Garfield her hand to shake. He eyed it sceptically. "I would like to die not as enemies but as comrades, if that's okay as you. Take the helicopter and hunt down Wolf. Rescue him _alive_, and then destroy the Mistress for me for what she's made me do."

A few seconds passed between them before Garfield holstered one gun, shaking the Seer's hand.

"Are you sure you want this?" he asked solemnly, "You might have a chance to escape; head to England. I know people who can help you."

"England is compromised. Nowhere is safe. I had thought to get in touch with someone who said he could save me, but he's too late now. His Alpha Initiative will have to make do without me." She swallowed a tense gulp of air, "I'm ready."

Garfield closed his eyes for a moment, clenching them shut as he tried to drown out his thoughts. He didn't want to remember this. Not her, not like this. Why did they always have to die? He'd never thought he'd be seeing an Omega operative is this light before. They had families, lives to lead. Maybe they weren't all evil as he'd thought? Maybe the Seer was right and he was being arrogant. He always had been somewhat arrogant.

He opened his eyes and quick as a flash levelled the gun. He pulled the trigger in the split second, and the Seer burst into flames where she stood. Then there was nothing left of her but a burning corpse. She didn't suffer. The bullet shot right through her temple and killed her instantly.

Garfield didn't waste any more time. He sprinted out the window, jumping and landing into the open cockpit of the helicopter. Once he was in, he made sure to slam the door shut behind him. The pilot awaited his orders,

"Follow these coordinates," he bellowed above the roar, showing the pilot a small box that had been clipped to his belt. On the small screen was a green pixelated series of numbers; the GPS signal coordinates of the phone, and in turn where Wolf would be, "Once we're in range, fly low and keep with the target." The pilot nodded, and suddenly the helicopter swung to the side, turning at an angle away from the building.

Garfield looked to see what weapons that the Seer had made available. In her final act, she may have just given him all that he needed to retake the phone and Wolf. The teen made his last preparations as the craft flew through the city.

TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI

"Sir, we're closing in on the target."

Garfield stirred from his seat in the cockpit. He crouched forwards, looking out the window. They were heading over an underpass, no vehicles in sight.

"Are you sure?" Garfield asked, picking up his Berettas from the side. Now dealt out with better protective armour and more weaponry, he felt like he could take on the whole of Omega if he had the chance.

"Yes sir; we're directly over the coordinates." That was odd, then were was-

"Look out!" Garfield yelled, just as the tunnel ended and a whole convoy of vans and cars came into view. They blended almost seamlessly into the dark night, and the towering buildings made it hard to the helicopter to keep a steady flight _and_ take evasive action. Their presence was quickly noted down below, and soon shots were being fired up into them from the surroundings cars. Gunfire also fell down on them as well, as bullets panged into the metal hull of the helicopter from rooftops.

Which one was Wolf in? They all looked so plain and ordinary.

Garfield had to think, he had to analyse. Normal convention dictated that the vehicle of most importance, such as carrying specific individuals, would take centre and others would surround it in order to prevent a land approach. Outside vehicles would then carry armed mercenaries in order to better defend the centre vehicle. However, that approach was too widely known, and far too obvious by Omega standards. Having Wolf positioned on the direct outside would be too risky for anyone's liking, so would have some sort of escort adjacent to it. So that would mean a small group would shadow the larger group, keeping as part of the whole convoy whilst not attracting attention to itself. A pilot fish scenario, so to speak.

So that would mean…

Garfield easily spotted the odd cluster that hung back. He pointed down out the window to the pilot,

"Fly there."

The pilot once more nodded, and the helicopter lowered further down to the streets. Garfield admitted the pilot had guts, but he was far more preoccupied with rescuing his father. He slid the door open, taking a rifle from the helicopter's stock and fired off several random shots into the convoy. He needed to find a way to bring them to a halt, or at least slow them down somehow. Then he could jump in and snatch the phone and Wolf and be out of there before anybody noticed.

Garfield was nearly flung out the cabin as the craft lurched violently to the right. He kept his grip on the side bars, and yanked himself back in. A barricade perhaps? There might be a few grenades in the helicopter; he could drop a few grenades further ahead down the road, right before the convoy reached the designated area. The explosion could force them all to stop, or if that failed then slow down somewhat. Garfield glanced back inside. He hadn't seen nay grenades so far though…

Fire blew from the helicopter's side. Inside the cockpit, a wailing sound began, lights flashing red as the whole array of buttons and dials descended into madness.

"Abort! Abort!" The Pilot yelled, frantically fiddling with his buckles. Garfield had to get out now. In an act of kindness, he kicked the pilot's ejector button. He had had more faith in the actual Pilot's skills when a craft was about to crash, but the guy was a hired gun. There was no way he could have salvaged the flight.

The teen steered the helicopter down into narrow gap the buildings surrounding him provided. When out of grenades, it seemed a helicopter would suffice. It was a last minute decision, but Garfield hoped it would pull through. Without staying for a second longer, he ditched the helicopter just as it was about to make an impact, throwing himself out of the open cabin door and into the open. The ground rushed to meet him, but Garfield threw out a grappling hook, hoping it would slow his fall. He slowed momentarily before the hook's grip snapped and he fell the last few feet at a startling rate.

His body crashed into the concrete, earning him probably a broken bone somewhere and numerous bruises. His breath escaped him, and he lay there sucking it back in as his ears thumped with the loud noise. He was vaguely aware of blaring horns, more explosions and the sweltering heat of the fire. He had to move, but he felt sick to his stomach. Which did he value more; his dignity or his life?

Life won over dignity, and as Garfield staggered to his feet he emptied his guts onto the pavement. Now he had to find Wolf's convoy. Most of them had piled up around the helicopter's wreckage down the road, and some of the other cars had spun to a stop, crashing into certain lampposts and vending stalls. The common public were running about screaming, making it impossible to see through the crowd to search for Wolf's truck. He had to be in there somewhere.

Garfield stumbled forwards until his orientation came back, and soon he was running from car to car, checking inside for the occupants. There was no sign of Wolf or Ko in any of them. Had he been led on? Had he been duped?

The teen was shining a torch beam inside the back of one van when suddenly he was grabbed roughly from behind by two men, one of them punching him harshly across his temple. His vision blurred, and fought to keep conscious.

"So you thought you'd try and be clever, eh?" It was Ko. A bloody gash ran down the left side of his face, and bled through his hair, but otherwise looked unscathed. Wolf was on his knees, hands on his head. His bindings must've come loose or broken during the crash. Ko had a gun held to his head. A few armed officers stood surrounding them. They must've been congregating whilst Garfield had been searching the rest of the carnage for Wolf. "Did you really think you could kill me? I am Chief Superintendent Guozhi Ko! I rule here! THIS CITY IS MINE!"

He was deluded with power. He had forgotten his triad and Omega masters, and had finally given in to insanity. He was laughing now, not particularly bothered that they were in the middle of the street where the whole city could see him. He knew his position; he could have any one of them arrested or executed if it so pleased him.

"You rule nothing," Garfield spat, still slightly delirious from the blow, "You're just a puppet being wrestled over by two puppeteers."

"What did you just call me?" Ko sneered, his gun swerving back to Wolf's head, the catch off, "Tell me! I dare you to call me a puppet again!"

"You never realised?" It was Garfield's turn to laugh, "You've always been played, right from the start. Back when you were just a constable you were still the laughing stock of the force. The only reason you rose through the ranks was because you were weak willed; anyone could easily manipulate you. The triads gave you a taste of luxury and you bit like the obedient fish you are. They had you act on their every word in order for you to stay in your position. Then Omega comes along and tries to waver you. They appealed to your sense of selfishness and made you one of their own. Why, I don't know. But I can make a pretty good guess." Garfield hacked up a glob of blood and spit onto the floor, "They wanted _you_ as _their_ pet."

"How dare you!" Ko screamed, suddenly turning on Garfield with the gun, "I could blow your brains out right now! Who's the pet now, huh? Can a pet do that? Am I just a puppet with a _gun in your face_?"

The distraction wasn't lost on Wolf. Being in hostage situations before had trained him well for this moment, and without hesitation he stood up and lashed out with a foot at Ko's knees. Before the armed guards could react, Wolf snatched back Ko's neck and snapped it to one side. A resounding crack came, and then Guozhi Ko crumpled to the floor quietly, without another word. The tyrant's last words were ones of fury and rage, but now he lay silent at Garfield's feet.

Wolf caught the gun and shot twice, taking down the two men holding Garfield. The teen shook himself, standing up as they fell to the floor alongside Ko's body.

"Anyone else who dares to threaten my son will die on the spot, understand?"

The surrounding men were all reaching for their weapons, but they all faltered for a moment. Wolf's anger wasn't enough to scare them off, but it did buy Garfield some time. The teen took out his two Berettas, and began shooting, taking down the officers one by one. Wolf followed suite, firing off at the guards as they attempted to make a final resistance. Side by side, the soldier and the criminal make a last stand.

They didn't stop shooting till the last one fell, and they remained in their stances until they were certain no one was left. The fire churned around them, and a soundless, solemn moment washed over the area. Then, slowly, as time sped back up, Wolf and Garfield came back to their senses.

"Thanks," Wolf said first, breaking the uneasy silence, "For saving me, that is."

"Don't mention it," Garfield sighed, reloading his handguns. He surveyed the scene, kneeling down to feel inside Ko's jacket. His hand fell upon the phone, and he pulled it out. "There it is!" The teen pocketed the phone joyfully.

"What now?" Wolf asked, knowing that it would be Garfield with the plan in the end. He had grown accustomed to relying on his ward for the final judgement at the end of the day. Not that he appreciated it, but he had now admitted he was out of his depth. This was Garfield's call.

"Now we run."

"Out of the country?" Wolf said hopefully. He had been wanting to leave from the very start. This looked promising, but Garfield wavered again,

"… No… Not yet at least. There's one last thing I have to do. With Omega, and Scorpia and the Snakehead."

For some strange reason, those three words rang in Wolf's head. They sounded familiar. Awfully familiar.

"_Why?" Wolf asked, now properly worried, realising the woman's words and their meaning, "What's wrong?"_

"_A storm is coming once more;" she said cryptically, "The scorpion and the snake once fought the end. But now no more. Without the scorpion the snake will die because of the end. Everything will die in the end."_

"Pup…" Wolf edged, caution in his voice. The teen looked at him oddly,

"Yes? What is it?" Wolf recited what the old woman had said to him, trying to refer to it word for word. Garfield thought for a moment, before realisation dawned on his face.

"I get it now… Oh this is perfect… They're brilliant."

"Who are? What's brilliant?" Garfield just smiled,

"Three birds with one stone."

TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI – TVI

Alex stood in the Clock-tower alongside Ben. Smithers had graciously agreed to see them, but Alex was more afraid of running into Cartman or Silver.

"I assume there's good reason behind this?" the technician asked, "Normally I wouldn't question you Alex, dear boy, but it's just seems very… _unlike_ you."

"Just do it Smithers." Alex sighed, "I don't know why, or for what reason, I just know that Blue wants this."

"Well, if it's for Viking then I _hope_ there's a reason at all," Smithers chuckled, tapping at the relevant keys. One by one, the lights inside the Clock-tower dimmed, before brightening again with a red hue. "There you go, we are now officially cut off from outside contact. No information can be leaked nor can any information be taken in. Is there anything else?"

"Can you try and locate where Viking is?" Ben asked, leaning on the table. Smithers shook his head,

"We've already tried all that there is." A small sketchy red globe flashed before their eyes, rotating as a cross passed over several countries, "GPS, call traces, even satellite imaging; nothing shows up any results. Viking's one of our best technicians. Whereas you Alex can hide yourself physically when under pressure, Garfield does the same on a global scale whilst remaining in plain view."

"Damn…" Alex whistled, "He should teach me that sometime, when he returns of course."

"You think he'll come back?" Ben hedged, frowning at Alex, "What is 'Midnight on the Thames anyway?"

"A small code Blue introduced to me after that barbeque in the summer after Omega's attack. He told me two others; 'London's burning' and 'I'm A-Okay'." The teen spy smiled, "Not that I'm allowed to tell you of course." The smile faded, "He'll be back. He has to." Ben was about to push further when he was cut off from above,

"RIDER!"

Silver stood on the balcony over them, looking down with vehemence.

"Yes _sir_?" Alex inquired without looking up, spitting out the title. Silver bristled, but said nothing about the matter,

"You were called in for a meeting! Why are you instead cutting off the servers?" He growled in annoyance, "The Clock-tower is our current head of operations for the time being until new locations are built, so I'd appreciate if you weren't to play around with it like it was your own personal toy!"

"I'd also appreciate it if you realised we still had a mole within our ranks," Alex sighed, finally dealing the killer blow. Silver guffawed,

"We've already dealt with traitors."

"Not this one; this one was too close to consider."

"How close?" Everyone was staring at Alex now, but all the teen could do was shrug,

"I don't know."

The silence remained as the troubles of Omega once forgotten were coming back to haunt them. Alex knew what they were all thinking; was _he_ one of them? Was it Blue, or Wolf, or Ben? Could it be any of them?

He really hoped Garfield would get back soon so they could clear up this stupid, horrible mess.

**So thanks for reading. It might be another two weeks until I next update. Possibly three if I'm unfortunate. I've currently got a bit of time on my hands, but not much.**

**As for now, I'm working on several new pieces; one of which, for Alex Rider, moves away from the Omega trilogy and focuses one something different. A one shot, more romance than anything I think. I don't know, I just need to broaden my story styles. I'm also working on new stories for several other series, but I don't know whether to publish them on this site too or not.**

**Thanks – K9**


End file.
